Whitespace
by Prosthetic Forehead
Summary: Between reality and imaginary, there is a fine line. Shirou crosses that line when he brings an end to Gilgamesh's madness. He would be fine if it ended right there, if for all his efforts he had just been a victorious martyr. Instead, he awakens in an odd place - Fuyuki just as he remembered it. Only, it's really not quite the same.
1. àｓｙɭúϻ

coming to

feeling like

□□□□-□-□rd□-□

f eling like

_ feeling like

othing left

nothing□□□-□□_□

buta□□□hill□□□□

looking□just looking

and□seeing□nothing

no vivid detail

andfeeling□□nothing□

□□can□t□even□grasp

asingle□thing□nothing

feeling like

a□□o□□□□□□□□rd

withstanding□□pain

withstanding to what? what?

when i was young i remember

seeing kiritsugu

i watched, seeinga□□o□□□□□□□□rd

□□□□feeling his brush against the empty white paper

white

the white paper, his brush, grasping, feeling it wielded

likeaa□□o□□□□□□□□rdhemovedit so gracef

like a□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

just like a□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□a□□o□□□□□□□□rd

when he was finished he held it up and asked me what i thought

i was too young, so i didn't know, i didn't think

my mind wasjustblank

whiteandblank

he said then

that he would not train me, until i could tell him what he had just written

i wanted to learn from him

i loved his meaning, the empty unjudging look

standing with frozen mountains under him

□□o□□□□rd

i never did see the barren strand wound around his eyes

□□o□□□□□□□□rd

i tried to understandhim but he was too clever and i was too young

so, it wasn't hard to ask fuji-nee what he had written

but when i told him what he had written, he shook his head

"try again"

i did. i asked fuji-nee again

she said there was an older definition for the word kiritsugu had written down

sky

was the same word for

empt□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

y

so i told him, "empty"

and again, he shook his head

and again, i asked fuji-nee

and she smiled so big and wide

she showed me□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

she showed me an open fist□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

she showed me an empty fist□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

she said it could me□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□an□□□□□□□□□□□□□□fight□□□□□□□□□□□□□□ingwithanopen□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

but again, kiritsugu shook□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□shook□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□kirtsigu□□□□□□□□□□□□□□tsugu□□□□□□□shook□□□□□□□hisheadandsmiled

iwassomadthat□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□sw□□□□r□□□□

□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□thati□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□s□□r□□□□□□

igraspedit□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□hethoughticouldn□□□□□□□t□□□□□□□□□□□□□□hedidn□□□□□□□twantmeon□□□□□□□this□□□□□□□path□□□□□□□

butigraspedit□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□swo□□□r□□□□

□□□□□□□□□□□□□□what□□□□□□□□□□□□□□is□□□□□□□easy□□□□□□□to□□□□□□□overlook□□□□□□□is□□□□□□□□□□□□□□thewhitespace□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

thespacebetweenwords□□□□□□□thespacebetweenletters□□□□□□□theemptyspaceofaword□□□□□□□itwaswhatmadeawordawordandaletteraletter□□□□□□□

thick□□□□□□□dark□□□□□□□strokes□□□□□□□he□□□□□□□brushed□□□□□□□slow□□□□□□□but□□□□□□□it□□□□□□□was□□□□□□□whitespace□□□□□□□he□□□□□□□was□□□□□□□paying□□□□□□□attention□□□□□□□to

"contrast between the elements"

"goodjobshirou"□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□heshookhishead

iguessihaveto□□□□□□□teach□□□□□□□you□□□□□□□all□□□□□□□i□□□□□□□know□□□□□□□now

stare□□□□□□□at□□□□□□□theheart

stare□□□□□□□deep□□□□□□□attheheart

notintheye□□□□□□□notinthehand□□□□□□□notinthefoot□□□□□□□notintothespace

stare into that man's heart

that is the stare kiritsugu had

that is the stare of a h□□o

seethroughtheheart□□□□□□□seethroughtheheart□□□□□□□andgrasp□□□□□□□whatliesbeyondit□□□□□□□

graspthetheory□□□□□□□grasptheelement□□□□□□□graspthehistory□□□□□□□grasptheorigin□□□□□□□graspitall

grasp its strength, grasp its weakness

thatishowyoufight□□□□□□□withouttlegraphs□□□□□□□withoutdistractions□□□□□□□withoutshame□□□□□□□withoutinjustice

thatishowyouarejust□□□□□□□withinseeing□□□□□□□withinfeeling□□□□□□□withinvictory□□□□□□□within□□□□□□□□□□□□□□"Do not think about other things,

throb□□□□

□□□□there is only one thing you can do

□□□□□□throb□□□

So master that one thing.□□□

□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□Do not forget. □□□sw□□□□□rdWhat you must imagine is alwa□ys that you, yourse□lf, are the □□□strongest.□□□□□throb□

□□□□throb□You do not need outside enemies. Fo□□□□thump□r you, the one you □□□throb□□have to fight is no□□□thumpthump□□ne other than yo□□throb□□□ur ow□□_._._.□□□n □□□□□i□□□□□mage.□□□□□□□□□□"

snap

all at once it came back like a flood of fury that i could not keep up with. I was moving blindly forward with it all unleashed and it all unwound with it all concentrated in a single movement and it overwhelmed him. Gilgamesh came under me as I tumbled down; tumbling now on top of him whirling in the gray desert so fast I'm still catching up with my brain. Fwink. Fwink. Fwink.□□□□□□□□□□□□□□Fwink□□□□□□□Fwink□□□□□□□The blades come flying down stabbing into his gilded plate, sheering metal with wringing shrieks of swords. Two slice through the dry empty air and pierce his palms. Crucified beneath me as I straddle him pounding with my arms that swing like blades drive into his feet and thighs. His back arches and he wails a laborious scream that births his death. Blood oozes from the King's joints □□□bang□□□□and then□□□bam□□□□□funk□□□□□□thevoid□□□thuck□□□□begins□□□slamslamslamslam□□□□to□□□□□□□crumble□□□□□□□crumbling away at my world as I□□□□□□ tr□□□□sh h□□□□m□□□bam□□bam□b□itallcomesundone□□□withmyfistsofsteel□□□□Ithrottle his neck and he stares deep into each other's eyes. Seeing myself like a stranger in my own eyes as we stare my bloody fury leaves me like a licked flame

Without the strength to move and with my thighs so tightly squeezing his ribs I cannot possibly get up now. We're sliding too fast and there's nothing to grip to hold onto. I wonder if there's not a way to hold on but for some reason my brain goes..empty. I feel something peaceful fill the void in my throbbing chest. The King wrestles underneath me, his bloody fingers wrapping around my neck. I realize that there might be a way, but for sure, I can hold this tyrant down- I- I can do this- It's what I was meant to-

My blades all just turn to dust. Exhausted and without anything left in my weak circuits, I feel it all go away- I hold on tighter, pushing Gilgamesh into the ground as we slide and slide and slide and then-It vanishes into darkness. And so do I.

Weightless dream so very nothing all around, no beautiful moon, no grand old temple, no pressurizing miasma - no whipping streaks of clashing swords; nothing. The very absence of all things. There is nothing to grasp, to hold, or even think. Time is instantly eternal and permanently fleeting. I can feel every tick and recall none of it. The last two weeks are all gone now in my head and there's truly nothing that remains of me. All of that effort put into surviving, into winning - it's all over now.

I won.

I won?

I think I did. I must have won. Is this what winning feels like? It doesn't feel like winning, but I know I bought enough time for Saber. I think it's all going to be okay for everyone back in□□□□□□.

Why does it feel so...□□□empty□□□?

I think Rin will be okay. It's a hollow victory, to win but die winning. Or, it's supposed to be, but maybe I'm happy like this. It feels right somehow; by dying with the man who committed the Fire I've atoned just a little inside the mind that claims it has no guilt. Rin cannot blame me - I tried my very best and wouldn't she be pr□□□□

no,

come on,

Kiritsugu!, □on't□□□

□□□shakeyourhead□□□

□□□now. I know you don□□□□□□□tapproveofmythinking. I just□□□□□□□ How can I□□□□□□□how can I say it?□□□□□□□With blackness all around, I can see Rin and Saber and Sakura and work and the people at□□school□□□Issei□□□hers□□□mile□□□somethinlike□a□smile□□□□□I can grasp those feelings□too□□□□□□they aren'thollow□□□□□□□but□□□

□□□□I have no regrets.□□□□□

□□This is the only way□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

úｎｌíϻïｔéԁｃ߀ｎ ìｐѕüｍ ԁ߀ɭ߀ｒ ѕíｔ ã ƅɭáᏧë ɯòｒｋѕԉǥùè ｅú ϻêâｔƃａɭｌ ｍäｇԉã ѕɦ߀ｒｔ ｌｏïｎ ѕｔｒìｐ ｓｔｅɑƙ ｒïｂëϒé éԉíϻ. Aԉìｍ ƙｉéɭƃåｓâ úｔ, ｈáϻ ϳｏɯɭ ρáｒïäｔｕｒƙïｒíｔѕüｇû ɯìｔɦѕｔò߀ԁ ｐáｉл ｔｏ ｃｒëａｔê ϻàлϒ ɰｅäρ߀лѕｓａｇｅ ƃèéｆ ｒïƅѕ ɑｄ ǥｒ߀úI áｍ ｔｈë ｂ߀лè ߀ｆ ｍｙｆúｒｔéｒ. Hí հａѵｅ ｃｒëàｔêԁ ߀ѵｅｒ òлê ｔհ߀úѕãԉԁ ƃɭãᏧèѕｃƙèｎ ｐòｒƙ, ｖｏｌｕｐｔâｔë Ꮷｏ ｃհûｃｋ ｃòｎｓｅｑｕäｔ. Kｔհïѕ ìѕ ｔｈê ߀лｌϒ ɰａｙｅѕѕë ãｄ, ԁùíｓ ρòｒƙ ԁèѕëｒûｎｔ ｐìǥｔհïѕ ìѕ ｔｈê ߀лｌϒ ɰａｙ.

Dｏԉｅｒｔհïѕ ìѕ ｔｈê ߀лｌϒ ɰａｙ ѕɰìԉë éíüѕｍòｄ ƃêëｆ ѕìｎｔ ｔｏԉｇüê ｔ-ƃòԉë. Aúｔë ｔｒì-ｔïｐ ｉｎ, ｔêԉᏧｅｒｌ߀ｉл ɑлԁ߀ｕïɭɭè Ꮷｕìｓ ｔãíｌ ѕհ߀ûɭｄéｒ ѕｉлｔ ｌéƅëｒƙâｓ. C߀ｍｍ߀ｄｏ íｎ ùɭɭäｍｃò áｎïｍ, éｌïｔ ｍòɭɭｉｔ лûɭｌâ ѕíｒɭòìԉ. Cãｐìｃòｌá ｋëｖïԉ ɋｕíｓ ƙｉêｌƃäｓã лìѕï ｅｘｃëρｔèùｒ.

EХｃêρｔｔòɦѕａｋá ｒïлｇíâｔ ɋùｉѕ հàｍ ƅｒêѕåòɭａ àԁ ѕɯｉｎｅ êïúｔòɦѕａｋá ｒïлɋùâ. Qúïｓ ｂèｅｆｔòɦѕａｋá ｒïл, ｆìɭｅｔ ϻïɢｎòл ǥｒòüԉԁ ｒｏùлｄ ϻｓｔëëɭ ïѕ ϻｙ ƅ߀Ꮷｙé ߀ｆｆｉｃｉã, ｓｉｒɭｏíԉ ѵêｎíãｍ ѕｕｔòɦѕａｋá ｒïлհâϻ ɦｏｃƙ, ｆúｇìáｔ ｓäｌãϻｉ èｔ ｂëèｆ ｔáìｌ ｉｔòɦѕａｋá ｒïлｔｔɑ ｓհòüｌԁêｒ ρâｎｃｅｔｔã ｓɦɑｎｔòɦѕａｋá ｒïлｌüｍ ρäｒíａｔｕｒ ëｌïｔ ｒíƅêｙë ԉãԉԁ ｆìｒｅ íｓ ϻϒ ƃɭ߀߀ԁƅåѕａ ｆìɭèｔ ｍｉｇлòл, ｃհìｃƙêл üｌɭâϻｃò ｐɑｒｉäｔûｒ ｂéｅｆ ｆɭäлｋ ìл ɑｄ ρ߀ｒƙ ϻｅɑｔɭòɑｆ ѕհ߀ｒｔ ｌòïԉ ｑúｉãԉԁ ｆìｒｅ íｓ ϻϒ ƃɭ߀߀ԁ ｒｏüｎᏧ ｑùìｓ ｔ-ƅｏлè.□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□_□□□_□□_□□□□□□-_-□□□-_-□□□_-□□□_-□□□-□_□-.-...-.-...

...

...

...□□□.□□□...□□□.□□□.□□□...□□□...□□□...□□□...□□□

"Eternity is instantaneous

and an Instant is eternal."

So with those words, my eyes open and I see...Ryuudou Temple once more.


	2. 天ì ｅл

The daylight is quite powerful, shining down from a clear sky above. It illuminates the indigo clay shingles that perfectly assemble to yawning overhang of each archway and rooftop surrounding in a colonnade of white stone and Sakura blossoms.

For a minute, I consider if this is heaven. But then, I realize it's not.

There is a man beside me, I think. Or maybe he's off in the distance, his silhouette behind ricepaper. My hearing is screwed up, but I hear him- reciting a proverb- something about- eternity... It rings so clear in my mind. His voice is just so calm, like...

I am standing with legs that should not support my weight in the middle of the empty platform. Behind me is a series of small steps. Directly in front is where Gilgamesh and I battled just moments ago. It's not possible to prove, because any evidence is now lacking. Where our swords shattered one another there is not a single embedded edge or broken stone. Where our shooting swords went awry like falling stars, not a single deformity can be seen to any tile or shingle. Where I was struck, there isn't a smear of blood or a scrap of clothing. Where I smashed into the temple proper with my back, the thin planks of wood stand the test of time. It is like our battle was ethereal and...

Mythoughtsarerunningtogether. Everything is so...bent. I crouch a little, feeling off balance, I...

I look down at my sw_r&amp;*_bdy._.-.. When I look down, I see my ragged jeans and tattered blue and white shirt. It's missing its sleeves. I see faint lines where wounds once throbbed. I can feel them ache still and deep inside a fire smolders in my chest. I realize I'm wheezing, so out of breath I have to get onto my knees. I can't stand up any longer. I'm totally worn out - drained of everything I ever had to spare.

I now realize that fight was just a sham. Gilgamesh was having fun toying with a pet, a plaything. He didn't take me seriously. And while my stubbornness cost him him the battle, it can't be stated any more plainly that I was a victim of a favored Fate. I could not have won without his arrogance deterring him; I could not have won without his pride as my shield. I can feel it in the way my rattled bones still hold together, the way my heart still beats like a a stitched canvas drum. A normal man could not fight Gilgamesh and even survive, nevermind win...

Wait. What am I doing? Why am I thinking about this? Isn't there something I should be doing? I can barely breathe. I lift my head up as I slide down onto my belly, no strength to even...

Issei arrives conveniently from the temple. I didn't realize - so lost to my thoughts. A servant of the temple had seen me kneel down here. Iseei's calm pace becomes more frantic - he flies up close and stops before me, winded.

"Emiya are- are you alright?"

"Yes," I say, wheezing.

"Sorry, that was worded poorly," he reaches into his pocket, "What I meant to say was, will you make it another five minutes? I'm going to call an ambulance."

The snark in his voice is weak, stretched thin by genuine concern. Still, I laugh. It hurts to laugh, but I feel myself tingle all over when I do. It's wonderful.

"Sure, I'll make it, Issei."

He must see something on my face he doesn't like, because the flush on his cheeks turns white. He spins around and shouts something I can't quite understand, running up to a servant- she's holding... something like a towel... And then he's running back again.. Why? Why bother Issei?

I watch him run. He gets very tiny for some reason. I start to feel really sleepy, so I lay down completely on the cold stone. I think I close my eyes at some point, but it's hard to say - everything is so papery white...


	3. Rëｃｏѵêｒϒ

Strange clarity in the haze□

□an aura of serenity, a void of fulfilment

like a refreshing breeze, nothing brushing against me.

And then I hear a step and turn.

And I lose the passage of time, past turns to present, a moment made exiled into immortality.

We stare each other down□□□□

□□□□her eyes are cold and lips wrinkled glumly.

□□□□□□if I could touch her skin, I think it would feel like snow

"Why did you go?"

"□□□□" I said, feeling myself conspire to reason... surely there was a reason I had done this...

Desperately, I try to grasp...

"Why did you not say goodbye?"

...the mayfly link that was once between us...

"□□□□" came from my throat, it burned hot and wet.

...Nothing.

Just a hateful stare that will never vanish from my mind.

Why had I?

I did not even consider what that would do.

It was selfish of me to leave, without saying goodbye.

It was selfish of me to leave, at all.

Feeling this like a fresh wound. Tightly torn by burning breaths that do not abate.

I don't need to grasp anything. I see now...

By being only concerned for all others, I had lost concern for someone close.

I had chosen to forsake myself out of guilt, but now, I'm more deeply indebted than ever.

But wasn't this the path of the hero? Isn't this what I had childishly clung to?

I guess so.

Now, I have another reason to be resolved for...

"G□□db□□".

* * *

Hospitals are a not familiar setting to wake in, but there's a nostalgic feeling that's lodged in my throat as I breathe through a tube awkwardly jammed into my nostrils. The air is not especially sterile, it's scentless - but my sense of smell could have been damaged from a blow to the head, or something. The walls and ceiling are a bleached white, obnoxious white light emanating from the small energy-efficient bulbs screwed into the little divets above.

It's odd, I'm already gravitating toward the windows and doors, surveying a path of escape. Is this what it's like? The instincts of war are deeply ingrained in me.

Some nurses are calmly striding by. There are a few others in my room, but I'm closest to the door and I can't see them behind the privacy curtains.

I sit up, expecting nothing to follow for some reason but excruciating pain reaches out like sticky webs and pulls me back into my seat. I must make some kind of pained noise as someone pushes their head inside and calls for a nurse.

The pain is quite unlike anything I have ever felt. It starts with a sharp electrocution and then spreads outward, rippling into my lungs and my heart, radiating back in like the raking back of an ebbing tide.

Later, when I'm cognizant, a doctor arrives. For some reason, I expect it to be Rin - and it makes me smile when I open my eyes. Only, it's not her and I remember the dream again. After I stare a little longer, my vision focuses. It's not Sakura either. Or Fuji-nee. Or anyone. It's just an Indian man with kind eyes. He brings in some x-rays, says something about resting for a few weeks, and then I realize both of my legs are in thick casts and my right arm is paralyzed by a sling.

I wish I had paid more attention to him, because I want to know what's wrong with me. I had thought I'd some sort of regeneration - I had thought... Rin had said something... Saber had mentioned... Avalon? We had talked about it so briefly towards the end, but maybe - maybe it was just a secondary effect of having a servant? And- Didn't he want to know how I'd gotten this way, either? It shouldn't be normal for someone like me to arrive at a temple by myself with such extensive injuries!

The doctor is too busy to see me again right away, so I drift in and out of sleep for a few hours. But eventually, I feel too alert. The sky bleeds in the distance, an orange glow breaking through the blinds. I try to contemplate with my fuzzy head what's going on.

No matter how hard I try, for a while, all I can do is think about the War. It _was_ a war, innocents had died to "gas leaks" and horrific, random acts of murder. I had nearly lost everything, even myself. It's a miracle, a baffling one, that I even survived.

I had accepted death and I had felt it embrace me. That dream had felt like the end of a long journey. I had felt peace for just a moment. Why was I not dead?

A question like that, I couldn't grasp it. I didn't want to. It was a pointless question - if I wasn't dead, then there's still more I can do.

Rapidly, I realize that being grounded for several weeks - it's just not an idea I can stand. I'm not used to being idle like this. One week, that's how long it will take me to recover. Already I feel restless like this, even knowing I'm in no condition to even dial a phone.

Hours tick by and it grows dark. For some reason, I'm expecting someone I know to come by, but nobody does. I feel cold, so I request some additional blankets from one of the nurses. And shampoo. My head is filthy with dried blood.

Finally, that night I call Issei with some assistance. He claims to have come by earlier that day but was turned away. He'll be there in the morning to see me, before school.

Then, I ask the question I'm really worried about: Did you tell Fuji-nee?

In Issei's roundabout way, he admitted to finding some other unfortunate person to do the deed and it was odd she hadn't arrived yet to see me. I can't blame him, Fuji-nee probably would have strangled any messenger of news like this.

I am truly messed up, I realize. Time ticks by slowly and I am undulating between contemplative and restless. There is nothing that can be done, I feel this deep in my heart, but hope springs from within the tiny pockets within my mind. Why am I being so negative? What makes me think some reckoning has transpired? I know I let myself be dragged down with Gilgamesh, but I am still alive! And- that's what worries me the most. What can I do? Is there anything I can do? If there is, I need to get myself out of here... but I'm in no shape for it... Rin or Saber would know what to do, but...

* * *

Fuji-nee arrives with a whirlwind of madness that always accompanies her. She yanks in two unrelated victims - a doctor and a nurse - and demands an explanation for everything that's wrong with me. When that doesn't work, a yakuza "gentleman" takes one out of the room and begins a friendly conversation.

After that, I find myself being wheeled down a hallway alongside Fuji-nee who's fussing so hard over me I'm trying hard not to wince in pain.

"Really, really I'm fine, I-"

"You are _not_ fine Mister! Do not even _play_ that game with me! Look at you! Look at what you've done! You've overworked yourself so bad this time- arrgh!" she tears at her bangs and then drags her fingers through my crusty hair, "When Issei said you were in the hospital I flew all the way over here!"

"Then why are you so late?" I say with a cracked throat, hoping to distract her-

It almost works. "W-Well, I- I admit to not listening too closely to that numbskull on the phone- I kind of... Well, this is only the fifth hospital I've been to today." She smiles sweetly, wearing a goofy blush, "B-But anyway! Don't change the subject on me! Do you have any idea how worried you made me? Why! What would Kiritsugu say, if he were to see you now?"

"I really don't know," I say softly, unable to stay silent to a question like that - it's more a response for my own ears. Hearing the relief in my own voice, it convinces me that he would have been proud. After all, I'd saved Fuyuki, hadn't I?


	4. Mᛖᛖn

That evening I returned home. It took all my strength to keep Fuji-nee under control. Actually, it's fair to say she went easy on me. I really have no means to control that woman. She's worse than Rin and Saber put together.

It was crazy of me to do so, but I pushed myself to prepare a simple dinner for the two of us. I could not stand for very long, but I was able to reach a stool and plop myself atop it. I used Fuji-nee as a lean-to back to the table, however.

Yeah, that had not been a bright idea. I was in excruciating pain still, a cast from my shin all the way down to my ankle plus a split on my wrist and an aching where all my ribs were bruised. I was tempted to try and reinforce my leg to see if it might help, but I couldn't risk making Fuji-nee more worried if it back-fired and I wound up screaming in agony.

We eat quietly opposite one another. Truly, the most awkward meal I have ever had.

"If you ever do something like this again, I will kill you." She says almost jovially, a dark glint in her eye.

"Really Fuji, I...I'm s-"

"No." She clips me off, "I'm sorry," a sudden breath - she starts coughing, choking on her food, "It took me almost a week to find you- you- I didn't even realize you were missing until Wednesday."

"It's not your fault-" the worst thing for me to say, she barks back angrily,

"I know I'm not your mother Shirou! But for god's sake - you are my responsibility. It is my fault. I wasn't paying attention, blithely believing you were off- I don't know- And look what happened! You could have-" you could have-" tears of relief drip from her eyes, she's sagging in her seat, smiling a kind of smile that's shrunken and shrivelling up her face like a prune.

I can't eat like this. I set down the chopsticks and take a breath. But no words come, I really don't know what to say. It's misplaced, her guilt. I know for certain that I'm to blame for this.

There's really nothing I can do to fix this, I realize. IOr maybe there is a way, but I've never been good with understanding people like this... I look up and meet her gaze, bearing it.

"You know, you can trust me Shirou-kun." She says softly, returning to herself. Eating with the kind of feminine grace I have rarely seen her have, something a little strange still lingers.

I nod, watching her delicately scoop rice grains into her mouth.

"What exactly were you trying to do that got you so..." she pauses, so I supply, "Messed up."

"Yes..." she mumbles, "Shirou, don't tell me... was it Ayako?"

All the seriousness in the room seems to fade. I feel my shoulders give out in the most exaggerated slackening of my body I've ever experienced.

"Ayako?! What does Ayako have to do with any of this?!"

"Well, I thought you two were close... And, you are becoming quite dashing..." she averts her gaze, cheeks pinkening with a girlish innocence, "Ayako has connections. Really Shirou, if she had this done to you over jealousy or some misplaced form of affection... I swear, even though our families are-"

"No! It was definitely nothing like that at all." I rub my face, tears coming out of my eyes - something like a giggle making me laugh uncontrollably; I can't even feel concerned for what she might have done to poor Ayako this week, with such insane speculations, "What gave you such a ridiculous-"

"Well, it's not like you've been keeping up with your swordsmanship, if she started bullying you, I'm not even sure you could protect yourself Shirooou..." she sighs dourly as I lose it.

I then clean my face with a warm handcloth.

"No, Ayako... she's just a friend. We don't see each other that way. And she's nothing like that, either. I hope you didn't interrogate her."

She nods stiffly, "Well... don't take it as a joke, I wasn't trying to be funny," she pouts, "I'm being serious. And of course I did interrogate her, who else would I ask if I wanted to find you?" she growls, "Really! What happened to you? The doctors did not supply me with anything!"

"Well, they might have, had you not been muscling them with an armed escort..." I rub my forehead, "Seriously, Ayako? Did you at least try asking Sak-"

She meows, "Shirou!"

Could I tell her the truth? Honestly, she would never believe me. I couldn't believe myself. All I wanted to do was reach out to Sakura, to Rin, to Saber... But then again, I am terrible at lying. I'm not sure I can pull it off. And what would be the ramifications of telling the truth? Taiga could do anything, armed with the knowledge I had. For her own protection, didn't I need to keep her in the dark? Kiritsugu had never involved her, but he had not always made the best decisions, either.

I swallow, hesitating. It's not good, Fujimura knows how to press advantage in such a situation. While I'm still in control of my own mouth, I decide to surrender peacefully.

"You know I'm not very good at lying," she nods with a kind of patience she usually lacks, "You also know that I wouldn't hide anything from you unless I thought..." I sigh, the desire to blame Kiritsugu bubbling up, but I push it away, "I know I won't be able to convince you not to stay out of this, even though it's really something I shouldn't tell you..."

"Oh come on Shirou! Tell me! Tell me!" her balled fists beat the table, "Quit with the dramatics!" she blinks, "Or is, is it some rival Yakuza after all? You really don't have to worry, I'm not ignorant of those sorts-"

"It's not got anything to do with that, Fuji-nee."

She settles down a little.

"Then what?"

I find the courage to tell her, fire in my chest, "It started before I brought Saber home with me three weeks ago. But even before then, it all began with the fire, the very reason I'm alone. Old Man was trying to stop something like that from happening in the first place." I think, the details are something that are a blur.

Fuji tilts her head, confused, "Go on," she supplies unsurely.

"Did you ever wonder why Old Man was so different? Why he had so few friends? I only just learned of the true extent of who he truly was."

"It's not like I didn't have some ideas," she mewls, "So it was your connection to Kiritsugu that got you banged up that badly?"

"In a way, yes." I sigh, relieved. Nothing further spills from my lips. I feel rather numb again.

"Well, don't stop there." She curls her finger at me, beckoning me to continue with a tightly coiled smile.

"It definitely gets more complicated from there," I hesitate again, "I'm serious Fuji-nee, this goes deeper than some drug trade or arms smuggling, or whatever it is you've got cooked up in your head already. The fire, it wasn't something a normal human could create."

She grabs me by the collar from across the table and makes a menacing cat-like glare, "I need to know this, Shirou, stop dancing around it and tell me." I remind her with a yelp that I'm still freshly "discharged" from the hospital and she lets me go with a blush.

And it's all a blur from there; in the beginning only a few stark words tumble out of me. About Tohsaka. Saber. The fire was caused by the Grail. Kiritsugu had wanted it, but destroyed it. I had met a backhanded Witch, a deadly Assassin, an inhuman Berserker... Rin wasn't who I thought she was. Archer was really me. I died and came back to life. Twice? There wasn't any way to narrate the story in a coherent way - it was all tangled up inside me and untangling it was making me relive those moments again. I needed someone with a cool head to articulate it. I started fudging the details and eventually I just stopped talking as disbelief sprouted in Fujimura's eyes before me.

Gathering herself, time returns to my sense. I can see the moon in the drapes behind her. I look up and watch the stars, put in a daze by her very first question.

"You keep mentioning this... Tohsaka person like I'm supposed to know her. Who is she? What happened Shirou?" she pauses, "And who is Saber? I don't really understand Shirou. Are these acquaintances of Kiritsugu's?" Dread creeps into her voice, as she scrutinizes me warily.


	5. Tհìѕ ìѕ ｔｈê ߀лｌϒ ɰａｙ

Fujimura forgave my confused outburst from days ago. Things seemed to just go back to "normal". She seemed no longer interested in delving into my reasons, more concerned with helping me become eased out of my burdensome plaster shackles. It was hard bearing her heavy looks.

I did try calling Rin. She didn't pick up.

I spent some time in the dojo, watching the phantom of a golden-haired king...queen wave her shimmering blade. I vowed never to step in there again.

Laying in bed, with the moon full on a bright black sky, I trace the mark that's no longer there, the image painted by Rin that night Before. I mouth some words to myself, just some things I never said.

I find my way to my workshop and huddle in the moonlight. With my eyes wide, I find myself naturally gravitating to my circuits, tempted to try and feel the hot iron of peeling open a nerve again. Meticulous processes would be pleasant to endure right now, to focus my entire being on something I could really feel. Even the thought of repairing a broken furnace could light me up.

But the sun rises suddenly and all I've pried apart is my own thoughts. A numb shell, my stomach clenches in hunger.

Later that day, Fujimura finally arrives with promised crutches. Something left behind in her haste. Afterward, I walk to the corner and stop in place. The traffic flows down the tight lane languidly. The light changes. I cross the street looking down at my feet. I duck into the shadows of an unfamiliar neighbourhood. Climbing up hill like this is impossible but I do it anyway. Step by step. I can remember Old Man's encouraging words - that any task can be conquered with a just single step.

It's not that far away now.

When I arrive There, I feel no terror. The sadness cannot be described. I knew it all along. Just a parking lot. So, I cross the street and enter. The garage climbs a few stories. It's like a wind tunnel inside. Water drips from the concrete layers. I turn away and return home. The umbrella comes down. I track sheets of water through the hall. I change my clothes and begin dinner. Fujimura arrives. We eat together. She makes a joke, something - a pun in English? I sit down and eat, laughing.

Fujimura smiles, taking my hand, "Hey," she says, "This was a wonderful meal Shirou, thank you."

I smile. She seems oddly appreciative for once. I squeeze her hand and let her go.

"Do you think you'll be able to attend school starting next week? The doctor said that if we come and get some t-"

"I'll think about it."

She nods, smiling.

I retire for the night and lay restlessly in bed. Again, I seek shelter in the shack. It's not really a proper workshop, I can't think of it like one anymore. Just like she said, it's more like a shack. I wish I had gotten to see Rin's workshop - I'm sure it would have been a sight.

A week passes. Nothing really happens. I really feel like I'm getting better, but it's hard to convince Fuji-nee. Her looks are still hard on me.

It dawns on me, one morning over tea with Fuji-nee, that Rin had said something about going to Clocktower when she was done with school.

What was that place again? A school, perhaps. I don't know. Who would know? I ask Taiga.

A funny face, she grins, "Not any school I've ever heard of."

Nor does the net, I tried the library yesterday.

Perhaps it's special? I want to know more, even if the idea of learning more brings with it

Whatever. Don't think about it, Shirou. Just do it. No harm in taking a step or two in that direction. What's there to lose?

But who to ask? Again, a question with no answer.

How do you locate people who want to stay hidden? How do you ask them a question which may have no answer? It's just a wild guess, but...

"Maybe if I make enough noise." But that idea - how could I make noise? I didn't want to hurt anyone. My magic didn't lend itself to that.

There's really only one person I can turn to.

That night, I turn toward the Church. To a man who was either recently departed, or would be, if I had any say. How could I battle anyone in this state? I don't know, but I'm feeling mad enough to try it.

I approach unwelcoming gates wrought with narrow metal caps. There's a chain around the old handles. I could maybe climb over the fence, but... I grasp the chain and wind my fingers around its cold links. A small blade materializes in my other hand and I begin to cut away. It takes me a few minutes to saw right through, opening up a single hole where the link once was. I slip inside and find only the ghost of a building. The door is tightly shut, but I force it open with a painful yank. Stepping inward, I peel a flashlight from my hip and shine the faint white beacon around the room. Old fire ravaged this place, for I find charred pews and blackened walls with a putrid scent. I don't sense anyone, or feel anything awry. I don't have the expertise to see if anything related to the grail still lingers, but I do wonder if it's been destroyed or just slumbering. The building feels at peace, so I'm content to let it be.

I turn to leave and almost wish I could see Kotomine. At least then, I might have a lead. Instead, I return home in the middle of the early morning. Exhausted, I sleep until noon. Fujimura bothers me about it later that night. I cook her a large dinner to apologize for the lack of a breakfast.

It's the morning after a fortnight. This time, I rouse Fujimura from bed and get her ready for school.

She asks me if I'm feeling good. I smile and say that I am. When she leaves, I remove the casts and bury the crutches in the closet. I stretch my stiff wrist slowly, exploring the flexibility of my arms and legs with light exercise.

She doesn't deserve this, but... I roam the house all morning, cleaning up. I make up my weeks of slacking by dusting and rearranging. I fold my sheets and make my bed. I do the laundry. I then make a few phone calls and order some pizza for tonight. At four, I step outside with my orange spring jacket and my backpack slung over my shoulder.

I reach the station a little giddier than I should be. It feels so wrong, like I've forsaken something again. Have I learned nothing, I wonder? I'm just acting out whimsically, with no regard for myself or those still close to me. I can hear that lecture beat in my mind like a never ending drum. Whatever, there's no use dweeling on it any longer. I shove a ticket stub in my pocket and watch the trains glide along until one stops in front of me.

This is the only way.

The seats are a dull white, just like the paper that ink had filled-

I promise I'll write you, Fuji-nee.

(something illegible),

Shirou


	6. ìｐѕüｍ

Getting information from shady people requires earning their trust. It's hard for me, because I can't help but voice what I'm feeling when I see something amiss. I can't abide by injustice. Even living on the negro streets can't change my feelings there.

It's any wonder I've gotten as far as I have without starting a crusade. But I realized early on I needed to get my bearings before picking a fight. In the last few weeks I had stopped about a dozen random muggings, but it's become apparent the world is more full of evil than I could even glimpse from fighting a mythical man like Gilgamesh.

Money's been so tight lately. I should have lived more frugally; then I could have been more picky about who I associate with now. I spent too many days in the modest bed and breakfasts that reminded me of home, chasing leads that took me nowhere. I made a fool of myself so many times now, there are only the ritzy or the _really_ run down clubs that'll let me in when they see my face.

I honestly thought I was suited to this kind of lifestyle, living like a vagabond. Like, I could just keep going on for days without it becoming a problem and in no time at all I'd know where to pick up my search to find what had happened to me - this world. Isn't that what He did for so many years? How did he do this without going insane? Seeing some of the homeless shamelessly begging the same people each day for spare change, it's enough to make me want to drop what I'm doing right now... But what I want to do is bigger than that, or maybe that's just an excuse I'm telling myself. Maybe, I've just become even more selfish than before.

Maybe I'm just not like Him. That could be a good thing, but I could sure use his help right about now. Or the Old Man's. Didn't he live like this too? From day to day, motel to motel. He never told me those stories, so I don't really know how he did it.

Worst of all, not only have the last three months been entirely fruitless, I'm starting to lose my resolve. What's the point of what I'm doing right now? I need to gather myself, but you know you can't, right? I think I'm just realizing that, slowly. You can't gather yourself up alone.

All around me, people are being entertained by attractive people. A young gentleman dressed in western silks serves two Chinese politburo a platter of delicately arranged fresh shrimp and lobster sashimi, milky eels drizzled in a chromatic dreamy sauce. An attractive young lady is seated opposite them, her fine mantle decorated in glossy pearls. A radiant smile pulls at the ends of her thick lips. Plastic laughs are interrupted by the smoker's runaway cough. Pinching food with thin chopsticks, they lounge like lizards, their beady eyes stuck on a hostess' puckered bosom.

I feel like I'm dreaming, again. Why am I in a ritzy place like this again? Oh, right, the whole reason for this situation is what's gotten me down. I shouldn't be here, but I'd been foolish enough to think somebody would hire a nobody kid like me without any practical experience or degree. I can fix just about anything, but I can't handle a face-to-face too well. Money just doesn't grow on trees in Kyoto and I'm just stupid enough to walk into a deal like this. A friendly man among a sea of dusty crooks, it was hard not to walk with him to a club just like this one.

A simple task, all it was - follow a few 'gentlemen' around for a couple of days. What do they do? Where do they eat? How much coffee do they drink? Do they speak Japanese? Mandarin? Korean? I think it's partly a test, but I'm no good at reading this sort of thing. I'm just way out of my league. Tohsaka would say this is too dangerous, I'm sure. There's no guarantee I'll even get what he promised me in return for this random favor.

At least the food is good. I reach down and pluck out a fresh yam, savouring the sweet taste. The pleasant tingle doesn't linger for long and I'm bereft of any thought. Just like that, all sense of plot and action collapses and I feel the burden lift, leaving me empty ins-

I'm startled as someone sits down at my table. She has a porcelain face with an arched nose, fine pink lips and dull doll-like brown eyes. She brushes playfully with her finger tips against her bangs, offering a shy smile, "Hello there, patron. I apologize that no one has seen to your hospitality all night."

I find myself smiling, despite the fact I really don't want to be bothered. It's hard to refuse her infectious invitation for contact - I haven't spoken much to anyone in a few days. "Shirou," I say, but she makes a motion to speak up - all around us is a loud electric beat, something I wasn't expecting at such a traditional establishment like this. Actually, until recently I had no experience with these kinds of places. Why would anyone come to a place to socialize, only for the atmosphere to make socializing impossible? The seating is stiff, with low square tables and hanging gardens, not a spot of wood that doesn't sparkle distractingly. As odd as it is, I've adapted to it with ease, so well that I can drown out the chaos that isn't my own voice.

"Shirou," I say a third time and she nods and smiles mutely. Did she even hear me? She could be deaf, if music this loud is always pumping in her ears.

She's wearing a pink kimono - the most conservatively dressed of all the women I have seen here. Still, it's like tissue against her olive skin, as if her dress is asking me to imagine the details underneath.

I raise a cup to my lips and swallow lukewarm tea. I meet her empty gaze, relaxing so calmly on the backs of my feet.

"This is the third time I've seen you here this week. Yet, each time I have seen you refuse company." She tilts her head, her soft voice oddly resonant - so clear to my ears over the thump thump. "Do you just come here for the food? Surely there are better places than this for that. Or do you just enjoy our hospitality? I know a lovely exclusive onsen which could do you better. Would you like to learn more about it?"

"No thanks." A thought comes to me, but I discard it, supplying not even an apology.

Her cheeks glow, my words stinging her like a slap. I draw my eyes down shamefully. I examine the black pearls of her fingernails, missing her words through the thrum of the bass.

"I would have let you be, but something compelled me to come speak to you." She says tiredly, "I think I saw something like forlornness... It's not something I'm unfamiliar with, but it seems stubborn in your case. I had thought Koneko would have chased it down yesterday, but you even refused her." The idyllic hands I'm admiring reach out and seize my palm. She drags my fingers into her lap, pulling me forward from my seat. "Please, confide a little in me?" she asks with a formal plucking of her voice.

I pull my hand out of her grasp slowly. Her guiding smile slackens, only to return when I produce a small, folded piece of paper from my wallet and slip it toward her.

She unfolds it. After a few beats of the song, she puts it down and slides it back to me.

"I'm looking for that person."

She nods, an easy smile bleeding onto her lips, "I haven't seen her.."

"I know. I don't think anyone here has." I glance down at the drawing. Despite the fidelity of the image, not even a photograph could have captured her real likeness. I slip it back into my wallet.

"I'm sure she will return to you." A motherly smile that is ruined by the strong shadow around her eyes, "Don't let it get you down. Haven't you heard the saying..love conquers all?"

I force a smile and she leaves rejuvenated. Maybe she's right? Wouldn't that be nice.

The two of us chat about stupid mundane things for a little while. I do my best to avoid her probing questions - I know I don't look the age I managed to fake to get in here. I know I don't know how to handle myself here. I know her intense stares are making me uncomfortable. She's trying to extract me from my shell and she's good at it, going so far as to wiggle playfully in her seat.

I really can't resist an honest woman, or at least, someone doing so well as to act like one.

My shoulders sag as I sit back in my seat. Maybe it's time I finally be honest with myself, get over all this.

"I screwed up," I tell her with an honest smile, "I made a big mistake leaving. I'm trying to set it right, but I'm not sure what I'm even doing here. This isn't the kind of place I want to be in."

"I really shouldn't tell you this, but I agree." She says, "You don't belong in a place like this. You're too cute." She drags her fingers against the table, "And you sound too honest. You're not like anyone else here."

My eyes dart from her to the men I should be watching. It looks like they're going to be wrapping up, given the tiredness in their eyes. It's getting late.

The hostess tries to get my attention with her big eyes, but I notice a new detail on the foreigners. Both of them are wearing small signet rings on their middle fingers. One is silver- another bronze- I squint my eyes, wondering if I can try to reinforce my vision to see what the symbols on the faces are-

But I'm distracted. She leans over my table and passes something into my hands with her soft grip, "Call me," she whispers, pecking me on the cheek.

Huh?

Then the two dark-suited men stand from their table and exit the building. I flag down the bill by emptying my wallet almost entirely and follow them outside of the scarlet tea house with a hurried stagger. But it's a little too late. I look left, right and straight ahead - but down neither alley can I see, nor hear the steps of their glassy wingtips. My heart crashes.

I'm tempted to return back inside and reclaim my seat, if only to resolve myself to giving up. Yet, I feel like I gave that man, Kojirou, my word.

So, I shove my hands into my pockets and huff it down a brick-paved alleyway. My old shoes slide against my splitting socks. It takes me a little over and hour to scurry to the lonesome club on the other side of the east district. The bouncer, a lean well-dressed man, recognizes me and allows me inside.

I'm shown past the barred-off stairs and up into a barren VIP room, much to my surprise. Behind a pink neon sign that says, "ENTER", the gloomy room glows a fluorescent blue.

"You're a tad early kid," Kojirou says, laying on a tattered leather couch.

I take a seat and fold my hands. He rolls up from his side, looking at the blackened wood ceiling above.

Straight to the point.

"I lost them again."

"Did you, now?"

What's with that tone? Did he expect me to fail?

"Yes."

"Don't sound so beat up about it kid, I'm sure you did your best."

That rings more hollow than some of the things I said to the hostess.

I say nothing for a little bit, expecting a reprimand.

"I have nothing new to add about them. Everything I reported on Monday is the same."

"Right on," he grins, his English worse-sounding than mine.

"So... I'll be going." I tell him frankly, hinting - well, quite clearly indicating that we're through. I stand up and take a step toward the door.

"Hey, hold it." He's still lying on the couch. I have my back to him.

Kojirou is a slight man with a black finely-trimmed goatee. I always see him in a black business suit, though it's usually loose on his shoulders. He never has his tie quite straight on. Still, there's something about his aura which has both been magnetizing and practiced. I shouldn't have shown my back to him.

I pull my hand away from the knob and shift a little to meet his gaze.

He's smiling.

"Don't you want your pay?"

The prickle of fear on the back of my head flickers out. I smile uneasily. "Well, I didn't really meet our terms. It would be better if I just left."

"Heh. Well, you're right about some of that. But for a kid - I mean, for a brat like yourself - you aren't dead, or anything. Better than most wannabe yakuza."

"I'm not really one of them," I say honestly, taking a step closer to him, "I think I told you that."

"Yeah, you did say that. But how many high-schoolers go looking for trouble and don't wanna be one of us?" he arches his neck, settling into his couch, "Yeah, you're too cool-headed to be a punk. And maybe a little stupid too, I mean, most wouldn't dare show their face after failing to live up to the second chance that you were given." My throat goes dry, "But that's what separates you from the others I think. Maybe a bit naive, but who isn't at your age? Really, I'm not upset. So, you should cool your jets. It's not the end just yet. We can still see this through."

It stings - my pride surges. I want to shout at him - I'm not naive. Not even close. I almost push it down, but it's been harder to swallow my outbursts, with my regular rhythm displaced - disturbed - by all the things I've seen.

Fuyuki really was nothing like this place.

"Hey. I'm not innocent." I have blood on my hands. How many died in my place during the Fire? How many did I fail to save during the Holy Grail War? More than enough, "You sound like you understand where I'm coming from, so you must get that I'm really not cut out for this. And really, if you didn't say you weren't good at getting me connections, I would have wanted nothing to do with this at all, anyway." I calm the heat in my voice, "I thought I could do this, but I'm really not made to be somebody's skulking lackey. Sorry to waste your time, but I'm going now. I'll find some other way to get what I need. I realized tonight that I'm just not desperate enough for this."

I twist the knob and push.

But it's locked.


	7. 肖ϒａkà

There is an ancient story, from when Confucius' law of hierarchies was just beginning to be established. When Kings ruled like Lords of War and the people went without their fill of rice, Shrewd King Helu with the aid of Tzu, did lay cruel siege in a long forgotten quest for power.

It was in the heart of Helu's empire that the art of the forging was first perfected. The King's greatest smith, Gan Jiang, had forged over one thousand swords for his army. It is said that not a single blade of his was ever broken in battle. From a long line of skilled ironsmithing ancestors, their names inscribed beside royal scholars and scientists; Juesun Jiang, He Jiang, Qieying Jiang, and Yuesun Jiang was Gan Jiang's mastery descended.

Bitter and Cruel King Helu was jealous of Gan Jiang's fame. He was popular among the people. Humble, strong, pious, filial, wise, and pure, Gan Jiang embodied the great virtues. For his unyielding contributions to the Land of Wu's success, many in the King's court favored him. A man of his skill and ancestry should be elevated to nobility, many thought.

No common man could be raised into the elite. Yet, there were those in King Helu's court who disagreed. With much wealth pouring in from all sides and with the subjugation of the neighboring states so very clear, during these times, there was never a day where drama made the court air smolder and crackle like a furnace. It seemed like Gan Jiang might become a Hero.

Close to the time when the decision would come, Shrewd and Wise King Helu did ask Gan Jiang to forge him a great and mighty blade. The mightiest blade he would ever craft, he did require. Honorable and filial Gan Jiang did know his place, he could not refuse the King's request for ultimate power, even if he had already suspected the man's intentions. As respected as King Helu was, his aura did give many of his subjects pause. It was difficult for the people to resent their King, as he had brought them great riches.

The immaterial spirits clearly did not favor King Helu. A powerful winter came, one which claimed the lives of many elders. The harsh winter air froze all of Gan Jiang's great furnaces. For four days and four nights, Gan Jiang did not work a single edge. Wracked with worry and shame, he was without recourse. As humble a man as Gan Jiang was, his pride was strong. He did love to be seen as a Hero of the people. Diligent and responsible, Gan Jiang did apologize to his Lord each day the furnaces lay dormant. And with each excuse, Gan Jiang felt the cold spur of doubt. King Helu accused Gan Jian of not giving his all, of conspiring with the enemy, giving him only one more day to prepare the requested blade.

In despair, the great smith did try his best, but to no avail. On what he thought might be his last winter night in the world, he sought council. Gan Jiang did belong to an intelligent and cultured Lady of Wu. Grim at the anxious worry in those tempered eyes, the attuned Lady Ye sniffed the icy fumes of the master smith's hearth and realized the forge lacked sufficient Qi to burn.

Knowing what failure would mean the one she was tied to, wise and kind Lady Ye ignited the blaze with her own flesh and blood. She was all consumed by fire and ignited an enormous pillar of flame with her spirit, shattering the seal of the ancient spirits.

Stricken with grief at his fated's demise, Gan Jiang forged not one, but two perfect immaterial blades. Ganjiang, he named the first. Its blade was dark and coarse, its reign stiff, rigid and hard like death. Moye he named the second. Its blade was pale and light, its yielding face supple and soft like the glow of moonlit flesh.

Perfect in every way, Gan Jiang did forge two equal masterpieces. Forged with his wife's essence, however, Moye was that much stronger than Ganjiang. It called its brother blade toward it when lost and sang in its wielder's hand when united.

Ganjiang kept his wife's blade and presented Ganjiang to his shrewd King. Despite his cleverness, it was not long before Gan Jiang's deception was uncovered and he was recalled by force. Humiliated and shamed before the court, Helu drew Ganjiang while Gan Jiang finally presented Moye before the court. Denouncing Gan Jiang as a traitor, King Helu raised his arm and gracefully swiped the air three times, demonstrating the serenity of the cold dark edge. Smiling wide, King Helu came down with a fourth strike at Gan Jiang. Passive at first, Gan Jiang watched as his death sailed toward him.

Ever still, it was only at the last moment his hand moved. Imbued with a righteous spirit, the blade of life bent around the edge of death like a finger of grass in the wind. Gan Jiang severed his king's head just before Ganjiang could end his life. Accepting his death for faithfully betraying his lord, it was then that Gan Jiang became one with Ganjiang.

So the legend goes, at least.

Today, these blades are known by a few historians by many names. The names I came to know them by were Kanshou and Bakuya. How came I know these blades is a mystery of fate. It's not as though I have some particular affinity to their history, or some elemental propensity for light and shadow - it's just their raw perfection that makes them a delight to hold. I can't explain it, I don't have any frame of reference - it's not like I collected swords growing up, or had ever cracked more than a few books on ancient history before all...this. I just know, from their imperceptible weight, and their gentle balance, the perfect way they bend on a deflection or penetrate on a follow-through, to the majesty that is their arcing flight, that they are perfect. Their history, true or imagined by man, calls to the front of my mind whenever they slip between my fingers.

Even now, caught in a vacuum of time and space, with Kojirou quietly pulling himself to his feet from the couch, Kanshou and Bakuya sit close to the front of my mind. They feel so close to my fingertips, begging me to call them into this world - for the first time perhaps. It's hard to think straight, to remember if I have even used my magic at all since I arrived here. I think I have, I know I have touched the fringe of my power, but perhaps fear of being powerless - or something else - perhaps reliving what brought me here in the first place - has left me too scared to dip inside myself too deep...

"Do you understand what I'm trying to say, kid?" Kojirou asks tiredly, "If you work with the Yakuza, you don't get an option to walk away. I don't like to make a mess, and there's really no problem with failing once or twice. Hey, we all start out somewhere, right?" he smiles a good-natured kind of smile, one King Helu might use to beguile his trusting subjects. "What I'm trying to say is, you are forgiven - it's not like I expected you to track those men even as well as you did. It wasn't important that you succeeded. You see... I already know everything about them - or at least, everything that is needed to be known."

He wears such a sly smirk on his pale pink lips, his words so carefree and sure.

I can see now, that leaving this place peacefully is not an option. Tohsaka's or my old man would say, probably, that I was a fool to come here.

I guess I really haven't changed much. But was I even really trying to?

"If I'm just a kid, you don't need me. Just let me go. I don't want to fight." I sound like a broken record - this is getting so old.

"You don't have a choice in this. You're either with us, or against us. That's just how it goes. It's how recruiting goes. You don't get to walk away if you take a job. No offense, but I'd just get in trouble if I let you go. Even if you are just a dumb kid."

It's hard, because I like to think I'm a hero of justice. At the same time, I never once questioned Taiga- Nee-chan's... I guess the Yakuza are a necessary evil, at least in some places. They keep things regular and some families have respect for 'the people'. It's twisted thinking like this that let me go on this far, but I realize it's the excuse of a hypocrite.

This guy, though? I can already tell I hate him. There's no excuse for manipulating people.

"Don't give me that look. Look, I don't want to hurt you. I think we can be on the same page. Life's a positive sum game, _you dig_? It's gotten tight these days, a few extra hands could help... and there's something in it for you too."

I repeat, "I'm not a thug." Holy fire rolls off my shoulders, "I won't do your dirty work. If all you want me to do is tail a few foreigners, that's fine, but I'm not cut out-" I throw my hands up and shout, "I don't hurt innocent people."

"Yeah, you keep saying that. I know, I understand. I mean, a thug? No, a thug would be too good for you kid. That's not why I need you."

I'm not sure this conversation is going anywhere. I'm telling him straight that this isn't going to work out. My eyes are darting all around, looking for something to use to my advantage. He knows I'm acting like a cornered rat, with my back to the door. He knows I'm guarded. And I know he's reaching for his knife - or gun - whatever he has in his back pocket. His clothes sag on his hips, indicating uneven weight there. It makes us both tense.

I might have to end this man's life. I might even have to - if it's absolutely necessary - surprise him with Kanshou and Bakuya. My eyes can already see the targets painted - one slice across his collar, an opposing swing into the ulnar nerve in his right arm. An attack like that would be difficult to dodge and would debilitate him for the rest of his life.

"Help me understand." I widen my stance and feel my circuits open up on their own accord.

"Heh, you wouldn't believe me, even if I told you."

I feel my heart pound in my head. Maybe my only choice is to bait him - I'm better at fighting defensively, my reactions used to superhuman speed. If I act first, I might make the wrong move.

"What kind of an answer is that? Try me."

"Suppose you had the power to see the future, to read the intentions of others, to know where and when to appeal to someone's aptitudes? Suppose you had this skill and suppose you believed in it wholeheartedly, even if there is no scientific or rationale basis for it. What if I told you...I can see auras." He raises his glassy brown eyes, "I know, it probably sounds ludicrous. But, it's the only reason I'm still alive today." He raises his empty hand, pointing at me, "I saw your aura when you walked into this club. And all I needed was just a word with my Boss. He trusts my judgement. I trust my eyes." He snorts, "You are special. But you're not that special. There's another one, just like you, in our little group. It's thanks to her, we owe as much success as we do."

"Your explanation, it doesn't make much sense to me. It's also too vague. How do I know this isn't just another one of your games? You've already admitted to testing me once. I just can't trust you, I made a stupid mistake thinking I could deal with the likes of you in the first place."

"You're not convincing even yourself with that tone. I can tell from the way your voice sinks, that you do believe me." He relaxes his stance, folding his arms under his chest and dropping his shoulders, "Your aura has changed dramatically. You're curious. Hopeful. Still just as careful, but I like that, you're not rash like most kids these days."

There's a stare down. I meet that smug gaze. Violence thrums in my hands, but I'm not a murderer. Self-defense really is the only way. If he won't attack me, then we'll just stare each other down until one of us has to make a move.

"You need a little more convincing. I understand. Let's talk about your second assignment. If you succeed, you will be given the information and the money - more than we previously agreed upon."

Just when I consider relaxing just to seize a deep breath,

ԁãｎǥｅｒ

There's a click from behind me and my body moves like it's an extension of something else - a wild force at the end of my handle. Without thinking at all, Kanshou and Bakuya fly out of my hands. Sterling midnight and moon move in unison against the air into the body that emerges from the door.

K-Klang!

The room shakes as I'm thrown back, my swords impacting something hasty and powerful - I can hear stumbling as someone is flown back in the opposite direction, a girlish shriek reaching my ears, like they're about to fall over the banister outside after barely skidding to a halt. Reeling, but not totally unbalanced, I turn to Kojirou, the tip of Kanshou half-pointed at him. He wears an appraising smirk, scratching the pinnacle of his goatee, as if totally unconcerned - his eyes are latched onto my tranquil weapons.

"Interesting."

Damn! There went the element of surprise. And my cover. But since he isn't moving to attack me, I turn my head toward the door, an incredulous shriek scratching the back of my throat, the feeling of magic potent in the air, a small dust cloud fading fast, "What the hell was that!"

Then she trips in through the doorway.

The first thing that catches me are those dark indigo eyes and nappy black hair. It looks like a crow is nesting on top of her head, a glossy sheen to the frazzled bangs. A black tuxedo climbs down waifish arms and narrow hips, black slacks pressed tight around lean thighs. Chunky black boots encapsulate small feet. In one hand, there's an obsidian wand - or maybe a catalyst of some sort. The blue-eyed lady storms inside, throwing the door shut behind her, "What the hell Kojirou! Warn me the next time you bring another crazy guest up here!"

"Huh?" That's really I have all to say at a situation like this. How did the tension in the air get defused, just like that?

With her face glowing bright like a sakura bloom, I look toward Kojirou for guidance.

"Kid, this is the girl I was referring to just a bit ago. You can call her Ayaka. She was a freelancer, just like you." He nods to Ayaka, "Brat, this is... uh..." he looks at me, then back at her, "Well, his name's Kid. Kid, what's your name again?"

I keep a fair distance from the two whackos - raising my swords up. It's mostly for show, because there's really no tension in my arms. I don't want to fight a girl, especially not someone who was able to conjure some...magical force.

"It's Shirou." I say stiffly, letting Kanshou and Bakuya turn to stardust in my hands, "Nice to meet you."


	8. Mᛖ空E白ｔüM

I realize I'm making Ayaka uncomfortable, so I make sure to take my seat as far from her as possible. Those dark furtive eyes keep away from me, adjusted towards the door we came through and tucked behind those thin rimmed glasses. Kojirou is planted directly opposite me, laid back on the stiff wooden bench with all his weight unloosened in a relaxed posture. He continues to pluck his hairy goatee, his closeness letting me pick out more small details - like the slim gilded studs in his ear lobes.

We have cloudy orange beverages slammed on the table, German lager frothing at the rims of our glasses by a waiter that hastily leaves us in peace, stepping out the door. The beer looks positively disgusting to me, but when Kojirou takes his glass and tips it toward mine, there's a clink and I feel myself gurgling. I'm so glad it's ice cold - I would very likely puke all over him if this stuff were anything near room temperature.

"Ohhh this dunkel!" He laughs brazenly, "Good drink, new company, privacy... and good drink! Now that's what life's worth livin' for, am I right, Shirou?"

I cast a gaze around the private table, mesmerized by the ornate red wood under my feet, the high arching ceiling with the slow dragging fan. Starlight seems to pour through the lamps around us, a gentle quality to the comfortable air. The stoic glitz here reminds me of Tohsaka's polished home, though to be fair I've not been very many fancy places.

"No?" he laughs heartily, "Well, you'll learn. You've got to learn how to take your drink if you want to do business in the Orient." He grins like he's quoting some old saying, "I hear the same stories all the time. My boss'll take a new associate out and make em' look like fools. Even a fool gaijin can tell ya you gotta know how to hold it. Makes me feel more at ease too, if I know my comrades can all drink at my level."

"Kojirou-san," I muffle, staring at my filthy drink, "I have nothing against a little wine or sake in my food, or a little something to wash down a new year... It can even do much to compliment basic or salty flavors, but German beer is unlikely to ever be a regular part of my diet."

"I see, I see," he laughs again, angling an eye to Ayaka, "Well, I can't fault him for being up front. C'mon then girl, drink! Relax and drink! If you won't sit by us, the least you can do is show the boy up."

It's easy to see Ayaka doesn't care for our combined attention or Kojirou's not so subtle jabbing. I politely avert my gaze again, but Kojirou continues to stare her down until she takes a forgiving sip, her fragile hands looking like they'll shatter under the weight of all that murky alcohol.

The sip turns into another swallow but she gives up before she can surmount my last gulp.

"Thatagirl!"

I can feel her eyes roll. She reaches over and takes a napkin from the center of the table. I drum my fingers against the wood, waiting for Kojirou to bring up the business we're supposed to discuss.

But instead he just starts up again, "So, where you from kid? You're not a local are you?"

"No. I'm from Fuyuki. Fuyuki City."

I lean my forehead on my hand at his sudden excitement, taking another reluctant swallow of the cold drink. I can already feel a hangover about to break and we've only just begun...

"Hey, what a coincidence, Ayaka-chan's from there as well."

I glance at her again. She looks like she's wound herself into a knot - arms compressed tight over the front of her tux, hands stiff like iron bars, flat palms in her lap. She's staring down at the table, dark bangs flowing over her eyes.

"Maybe you know each other? What school did you attend?"

"Homurahara Academy."

Ayaka shivers a little, her arms tensing.

"Kojirou, let's change the subject." I leave no room for argument - the distress is apparent even to a total stranger like me.

"Eh, then how old are ya?"

"Nineteen." Okay, it's stretching the truth just a little, but I think I can get away with it.

"So, seventeen then."

Not a chance. I hang my head.

"Hah! Knew it, so don't even try it. Basic shit like that, it just makes you glow like a peacock to my eyes."

"So you can tell when I'm lying? Just like that?"

He folds his arms around his glass, pulling those thin olive cheeks into a tight grin, his narrow eyes squinting into smiles themselves, "Why yes, yes I can."

"That seems useful."

"Pfsh!" A glass slams down after a heavy gulp, "A bit of use, a bit of profit, and a lot of trouble for me. I'm not a walking lie detector, but you know how some people like to overreact..." he giggles, leaning over the table, "Helps with charming the ladies though. For that much, any amount of trouble's worth it."

He goes on about himself. I try not to listen too closely - it's making my head throb. I watch the time drag by. Not getting any of these moments back, but I can't seem to engage in Kojirou's little jabs. It's hard to laugh, though I force a few polite ones out. After what feels like an hour's through, we're both exhausted with each other.

This guy is a yakuza. Fuji-nee was related to them, so I'm used to their mannerisms, but I guess I'm just not used to the idea of "contracting" for them. I don't want to sink so low that I feel - I'm just stuck in a bad situation here. The least I can do is humor him, but...

"Seems you n' Miss Ayaka are made for each other," he grumbles tiredly, a glum finger writing illegible words with the watery dew on the ringed red wood.

I glance back at the quiet stranger at the far end of the table. She looks tuckered out, though her posture's just as impeccably straight.

I sigh, "I just don't know what to say." To you.

"Well, you catch on quick. Can't lie if you don't say anything eh? It's okay. I really don't mean to pry. It's just a natural reflex. Plus, I've always just been a really curious man with equally curious manners. Gets me in trouble, but it's not a bad thing to know the people you roll with. Also not a bad habit for my line of work, so I'm sure you understand. How about I tell you both a story instead? I'd rather entertain than dry up your enthusiasm for me." He chuckles, "How about it?"

No thanks would be my answer, but I nod, "Please, if you'd like to."

I can tell I've just said the thing he really wanted to hear, by the way Kojirou lights up like a child. He seizes a deep breath, those dark saggy clothes tight against his flat, lean chest just before he exhales. He channels all the energy in his room, ready to choke on his own giddy laughter.

"I don't get to tell it often, because, you know, most people think I'm talking shit. But the both of you know I'm sure, very well in-fact, that I'm not bullshitting you. Ya see, it was just ten years ago, almost to this very day, when I came aware to the paranormal. Now, before this point, I had become quite comfortable with my sixth sense. I wasn't quite as good as using it as I am now, but I'd come to know that I could just feel intent of somebody else if I concentrated hard enough. Wasn't quite enough to make me think ghosts were real or anything crazy quite like that, but you get the picture, right? An average punk with an above average gut instinct. So yeah, just to give you a better picture, the very the year before all it really started, I was able to glean a lot the answers to the graduation exam just by staring at the back of the girl in front of me. Name was Kanae - start student and grade A.. err, as I was saying you see, I was more skeptical than most. So as I was trying to say, at the time, I was seventeen, just like young Shirou over here, and I'd just scored my first real hit that night. You know, not one of those little puffs you get from the shuffle kid on the roof, but the real shit. I swear I was walking on clouds all night. Great as it was, I was a little slow on the uptake. Still had it in me though; me and what I thought was my date for the night - Ai, let's just call her - were enjoying a cozy shack they called the Luvmuv Motel. Great place you know? Not like the places of today, great rates, discreet clerks, didn't care if you made a mess.. uh, anyway, we were shacked up for the night. Was having such a great time, both of us high on life. So high in-fact... we were in bed when I realized I was so fucking hammered and sky high that I was going to puke. No way could I hold it back much longer."

This story quickly is going out of control, I can hardly tell if Kojirou is being serious or if he's making this all up on the spot, nevertheless, I don't interrupt him, looking to Ayaka for support. She doesn't seem to even remember I'm even here, her eyes stuck on her trembling knuckles. Great.

"The worst part is, Ai was really feelin' it. We were just so crazy comfy together. And, I knew she thought I was some real experienced tough guy. So, I really didn't want to roll over and vomit all over the floor. Would have been a real mood killer. So by and by, I tried my best to say something savvy - I can't remember how well that went, but I think I mentioned fixing the leak in the ceiling. Did I mention it was raining? Well, it was. I thought I could use that to my advantage. See, I figured if I ran all the way to the nearest window, and I vomited out it - I could wash my mouth out with the water and probably rinse out all the stink and Ai'd never realize what I'd done." He laughs cantankerously, "Of course, my plan worked perfectly. I found something better than a window in the hallway outside - a full on balcony! I walked right outside, looked straight down into the dark, then puked all over the sidewalk below. When I was done, I just tilted my head up and gargled my mouth out with the rain water. I thought to myself at the time - what a genius! You know, Ai really will have no idea what I've just went and done!" He thumps the table, "The only problem was, I realized I was now drenched. Sopping wet. Like a soaked towel. I realized that she'd know what I'd done because she'd realize I had gone outside. She'd know I'd just puked my guts out. So, I came to the desperate and dramatic conclusion that if I stripped naked, she wouldn't be able to tell I was wet! Great thinkin' huh? My clothes were wet, not really my skin much, so it was the perfect contingency. I stripped naked in the hallway, strolled up to our room and knocked on the door." He laughs, "Of course, when she opened the door, she freaked out worse than any banshee and slammed it in my face. Wouldn't let me back inside either." He takes another swig of beer, "Wouldn't pick up the phone ever again either."

After a deadpan pause he smiles triumphantly, "And that's it."

"That's it...?"

"Yeah! Real hoot, huh? Can you believe how hammered I was! 'course, I was just a stupid kid back then."

He sounds just a stupid to me, but who am I to judge? At least he didn't get himself killed fighting mythical servants.

I realize I'm smiling, a little laughter comes out. It's quite strange to laugh these days, but it's nice. I needed it.

"Uh, I thought you said this had something to do with the paranormal," I grin.

"Oh, did I? Did you want me to tell you that story too?"

A hand rubs against my forehead again, an amused sigh ejecting from my throat, "You said you wanted to talk about something tonight. That's why you insisted we sit up here, remember?" I pause soberly, "It sounded important."

Kojirou is grinning dumbly, though I think he's taking his alcohol quite well considering the half dozen glasses in front of him. I would have thought him more serious, I'd not seen this side in all my meetings with him. He seemed up front, professional, and straight-faced.

"Well, I did, but it's a bit late for that now? 'sides, you just came back from a lil' chore of mine, so we should relax. Chill together. Do you have any funny stories to tell? Look, what I mean is we really shouldn't rush to work, it's not healthy for us. Really kid, really - no really - don't look at me like that - see, that's the problem with this dammed country. Trained from toddlin' to work their tight arses to death. You know a pretty thing just threw herself out of a window last week, but people didn't even bawk over it. Not a peep in the papers either. S'only getting worse too."

"As regrettable as that is, there's nothing wrong with working hard, Kojirou-san." To my surprise, it's not my own voice that says those words. There's a pleading edge in Ayaka's tone.

"There is when it's the death of ya." I watch him turn his glazed eyes to Ayaka. She wears a resolute look.

"You don't understand. The path of a magus is paved with hardwork...and the constant threat of death."

I nod solemnly - Rin had said just as much. My old man had tired that line out far before I ever met her though.

Nothing I had learned could dissuade those words from being fact. Look where magic brought me? The path of a magus - it isn't like a video game. There are no "powerups" or tricks to success. One slip and it's all over. Then, there's talent, skill, heart, will, and a sheer amount of investment - decades, for most to discover the world's secrets. Maybe for Kojirou, who has had his special perception since birth and little other magical schooling, it all seems quite trite. But I doubt it - you can't become anyone of any import in a Yakuza without working hard. I know I won't become the hero I want to be, until I endure a lot of toil. Archer is proof of that - if I don't keep my goals straight, I'll become as broken as him.

As for Death? I've brushed with it a few times already. I wonder if Ayaka has, but it's hard for me to discern - she has such a soft, pretty face. And she sits like she's a tower about to crumble under its own rigid weight. Her voice carries about as far as my arm. Her whole body looks as fit to fight as those fragile glasses atop her button nose. If it weren't for her earlier display, I would have guessed she was a waitress at this bar, not a contractor for Yakuza.

He has a good smile, eyeing Ayaka fondly as she glowers under the pale white light, "True enough. I suppose that makes you both suited for my line of work. Isn't it fortunate?"

Not really - but I don't say so.

Ayaka keeps a stiff upper lip.

"Well, I guess that's enough for now... Let's meet up tomorrow at ten sharp. I'll go over your next assignment then. How's that sound?"

"I'll be there."

Ayaka nods.

"Very well! Glad I could close this out with you two..." he pushes off the bench and wobbles outside after peeling his long dark coat off the rack, "You have accommodations right Shirou?"

"Yeah." My money should hold out until the day after tomorrow... or maybe not... but I don't want to trouble him with that right now. I'm sure I can get some money in advance from somebody around here... from a likely loan shark, no doubt.

Ayaka presses her clothes flat against her sides, standing with a weary sigh.

Normally, I'd feel obligated to clean up the mess we've left at the table - it's disgusting - but there's no apparent sink in sight. I guess it's fine to leave it here? Besides, I can't let my eyes be pulled away from her-

"Ayaka-san," I stop myself, "Uh, sorry, is it okay to call you that?"

We lock eyes. She turns her head aside. A distinctly discomforting pause, "I guess."

"Sorry, would you prefer.. what's your family name?"

Another thoughtful pause. "You first."

I rub the back of my head, "Well, it's not like it's supposed to be some secret." Though I had been a little careful with just giving it out... "I'm Emiya Shirou."

"Emiya?" she repeats, the barest hint of curiosity in her dark blue eyes - the most spark I'd seen in her since we'd nearly killed each other.

Another awkward pause, "Yes, is that a problem?"

She shakes her head, "No, it's nothing."

"Oh, alright. Then, yours?"

"Sajyou." She turns to leave.

"W-Wait, please." I step beside her as she turns to fetch her jacket, the voice that comes out of my mouth seems a little too desperate, so I straighten up let fire stoke my words, "I have some questions."

She looks down at her feet - or mine.

Since she doesn't respond I venture, "You're a magus."

"I guess so."

Well, that's not the kind of answer I was expecting, given her earlier candid morbidity.

"It's a little complicated, but I'm looking for a person and a place actually. I have no one and nothing else to turn to. Can I please trouble you about it? It's why I got involved with Kojirou-san in the first place."

She thinks, thoughts churning in her dark eyes, "For an equivalent price, I guess I could."

A price? Well, I guess I'd expect nothing less from a magus or an affiliate with yakuza. It's fair.

"Name your price."

Those thin lips bunch up - but her eyes don't study me, they stare through me. Like I'm not even there.

"What's your blood type?"

"Uh, O."

"Positive?"

"No, negative."

She blinks, something chirpy like a laugh peeking out of her throat, "No, I mean, are you sure?"

"Yes." I've given blood regularly.

"Well, that's fortunate. I could use the blood of a magus. Your type is also favorable for my study. Can you give me half a litre? In exchange, I will do my best to answer your questions."

I nearly sigh, but maybe it's normal for magi to conduct blood rituals? It figures I'd have to bow to some ridiculous request like this just for what you'd think would be very benign information. Secrets will be secrets I suppose.

"That's a lot of blood, I don't know if I can spare that much all at once. It sounds like Kojirou has something important for us to do tomorrow too. How about I give you half of that, you answer one of my questions, and then I'll give you the other half for the second question later?"

I shiver under the stark look in her eyes, "I guess," her shoulders sag, "Father'd say putting up with such an insulting deal is beneath me, but I guess that's not unreasonable of you to offer."

"I'm sorry, I'm just being cautious here. Why do you need my blood exactly?" I hope it's not to curse anybody, me especially.

"I can't really tell you that." She replies automatically.

"Just, you won't hurt anyone with it, will you?"

She blinks. 3..2..1..

"No!" she squeaks out, "Of course not. Not intentionally anyway. It's just for my..research."

It's both a refreshingly feminine and jarringly creepy tone. She gathers herself again, looking bored and stoic once more.

"Sorry, I may be a magus, but I'm not much of one. I don't really know what use my blood could have. I just wanted to be sure. Do you want to do this right now?"

"Uh, I guess it could wait until the morning."

I'd rather not wait any longer, "What I meant to say was, where can we do this?"

She sighs, a wispy sort of huff, "Come with."

Later, we found a bus in the dark; dingy streetlights illuminated a crumbling trail to a forgotten stop. In the dim hours of the late evening, I was quickly disoriented. Sajyou knew when to get off, pivoting in the right direction once we touched solid concrete.

The whole way, I felt an electric charge course through me, keeping my thoughts and worries at bay. Nevertheless, anxiety made my stomach wind around itself - one uneasy silence after the other stirring up my heart.

Sajyou currently lives in a lodging belonging a frequently truant relative of hers, she had explained in her chilly, efficient manner. It's a single room artist's loft, paint peeling along the narrow boarded liquid white floors. Chromatic splatter stains everything under foot - a mini fridge, both lopsided black futons, the kitchen countertops, and even the small cubical for the toilet. A potter's wheel sits in one corner, dry clay dust and milky grime collecting in the crevices of the wood.

I would not ever realize a magus lived here. Sajyou registers my surprise quite well.

"I am not much of a magus, I don't even really have a workshop. Please make yourself at home."

"Uh, thanks. But don't worry about it, I don't really consider myself a conventional magus either. I didn't have much of a workshop at home - it was just a tool shed. A wooden shack. This is much nicer."

Whether it's apathy or anxiety that motivates the next bout of silence between us, I can't tell. We share a glance and then she replies, "Can we begin?"

"Okay, where do you want to do this?" I feel distinctly nervous about walking further - this space is more personal and feminine than I had been expecting, clothes laid out on top of one of the wall-adjacent futons.

"Let me get a towel. I don't want to make a mess."

My shoes discarded at the door step, I sink down onto my knees. Trying to quiet my heart, I glance around the lived-in square. Sajyou rummages in a cupboard, then occupying a seat in front of me. A white ceramic bowl - totally void of any artistic merit besides its smooth shape and glossy finish, feels like a cloud in my hand. I hold it under my wrist, dropping it perfectly into centered place on the towel, and look her in the eye.

"So, I'll just fill this bowl up then."

"Please do."

My rashness makes me act without thinking.

"I am the bone of my sword." - No, those words did not leave my throat, but I thought them so strongly that they nearly jump out. Sizzling heat reels in my veins as sparks of life burn in my mind.

I grit my teeth and move my right hand in criss-cross gesture, my mind naturally reaching out to pull the easiest blade...A dagger of literal bone, nearly the straight fang of some horrible creature - but it's not like that. I felt its sensual life in my mind; it was worked by human hands, forged in a soft fire - its soul is that of a sword. It belonged to Adapa, an ancient sage of Babylon. A gift from Gilgamesh no doubt, though I can't recall when I first witnessed it. Probably during that last frantic battle with him.

Adapa was an ancient magus, though to apply the modern term is not appropriate. Adapa shared his secrets openly and practiced his arts to enlighten others, unlike the magi of today. This sword of bone has a humble history, forged from his soul mate's left femur and tibia shortly after her early demise. Fused together with the sage-king's own blood, he would use this sentimental edge for sacrificial ritual. A personal treasure Gilgamesh confiscated long after that king's reign was over, it had held only historical value to him. Odd that he would have chosen to use it against me, but I'm not sure how his power quite worked. Despite its strong sentiments, it is not a powerful phantasm. I realize why I instinctually grasped it however - any wound made with Adapa's bone sword will heal quickly and cleanly. This forgiving soul doesn't have the intent to permanently maim.

It has a compact hilt, the slightest notch a third of the way up acting as a subtle guard.

Sajyou is startled by my sudden creation of fused marrow, but I can only tell by the subtle spark in her eyes - the rest of her expression remains neutral, careful... hollow.

I carefully knick a part of my left wrist, holding it against the white porcelain. Thick scarlet blood flows hastily out of me.

"Was that projection?" Ayaka finally asks, after the bowl's bottom is flushed red.

"Yes. It's only a fake."

"It," she stops, her words careful, "Could I see it?"

I hold it out to her to behold but she takes it up instead. winding her fingers around it.

"Careful, it's sharp."

She doesn't listen at all and manages to prick her index finger as she runs her hand along its smooth-looking surface. It drips onto the towel outstretched underneath.

I feel my lips fly open despite the tiny injury. I look around for a first aid kit and start to stand. But something catches my attention. I look back at her finger, only for the wound to have vanished, nothing but a drop spilled.

"It's fine," she gently hushes my attempt to help, "Please don't move. I'd rather you not spill anything." She hands me back my projection, but it's no use to me right now. When I touch it, I just let it collapse into speckled dust.

"Thank you for sharing." She says for once, sincerity making her voice crack slightly.

Awkward silence envelops us again, but she ventures, "That was an interesting projection. I've seen nothing like it."

"Was it? I mean, it was just a sword."I smile, betraying my pitiful lie.

"No, it was definitely more than that. Are you sure you simply projected it?"

"Well, I admit it's a little more than just a sword, but it was just a projection - a fake."

She nods, "It felt too real, I guess to be one. It's impossible for me to tell it's just a construct of prana. You're quite skilled at the basics, if that's really all it was you just did."

"It's not really that special, I'm just...bent I guess. It's my specialty. Besides, I'm sure any magus could do what I do if they practiced enough at it."

Those dark blue eyes flicker toward my bleeding wrist, "I have been studying for a long time but I know I couldn't pull off something quite that real." She makes a shameful smile, "Of course, maybe you're right. I don't really have a knack for being a magus, so maybe most others can do that sort of thing."

"Maybe I can show you sometime how I do it? I think you're brilliant. I don't have the faintest idea what to do with my blood! Unlike you, Sajyou-san."

The bowl is almost filled to the brim, so she says nothing to that, "You may staunch that. That's the agreed upon amount for tonight."

There's a small panic... while I calmly explain, "Could you, I uh, don't really know any healing spells..."

"Y-you what? I'd assumed..." she bites her lip.

"Sorry Sayjou-san, could you, uh, before it starts overflowing?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm not so great at those kinds of spells either."

"But, I just saw you-"

"That was different." She says it so seriously, a little fear quaking in her voice, "Can't you do something? It's about to overflow and if I make a mess again-"

There's a spark of panic in our leveled gaze. She stumbles up and flies to the bathroom; coming out with a fresh roll of toilet paper. I spill blood all over the towel as I move my hand away toward it. She winds the toilet paper tight around my wound, tightly squeezing my flesh. Her fingers are ice cold. My hot blood burns through the thin sanitary paper. She keeps winding it around and around until there's a thick clump on my hand and wrist.

"It was a very clean cut," I laugh, my hand coming on top of hers, helping her squeeze me, "I guess I'm bleeding a bit too much.."

"I don't think it's working." She whines, her breathing light and excited, the white blouse under her tux squeezing against her breath-seized chest.

We hold that position until she becomes aware of how close she is to me. We share a look and I smile. She lets go.

Since I don't keel over after a few minutes like that, and the fact there's nothing dripping down my arm... I suppose that it's seemed to stop. We share a shame-thickened laugh.

"You should have told me you didn't know that kind of spell," she begins.

"I should have," I agree, "But so should you. You still haven't explained-"

"I just assumed!"

I just drop it, "So it's okay, I'm fine. Anyway, is that okay?" I keep my bandaged hand erect, pointing at the bowl with my other.

She appraises it, carefully scooping it up off the ground. "Yes." She sniffs it, then stands. Placing it on the countertop behind me, tin foil is wrapped over it. She sticks it in the mini-fridge. "Thank you, this will be very useful to me."

"Good. Then do you mind if I ask you my question now?"

She returns, kneeling before me, "Please do, unless you'd rather rest and ask me tomorrow. Either way, I promise to try my best."

Words come and time passes. I choose the question which she is most likely to know the answer to. Fatigue has set in so I ask it without any decorum. She keeps a rigid posture, like a monk's. Rather, she sits just like me, her feet folded under her. I only find it odd because she is a young woman acting like me. The strength in her posture is similar to Saber's, if a little more subtle. Her subdued shoulders are rounded like pearls. Her eyes are softer, but I should have immediately compared her to Saber, especially with that tuxedo still tight against her arms. Maybe it was the glasses that threw the look off?

I almost want to ask her if she would like to slip into something more comfortable or if I should make her some tea, but then I forget I am not the host, nor do I really know her. She has been like this all night too, so I doubt she would suddenly relax even if I made her follow through with it.

Despite it all, she is strangely familiar.

So anyway, the question I have asked is simple yet it has a profound effect upon her.

"Clock Tower is.. Are you sure you're alright? I didn't think there was a mage on Earth who didn't know of it." She looks at my wrist, mumbling astonished to herself, "Did you lose too much blood?"

I bow my head, my cheeks stinging, "Well, I tried to find out on my own."

"No, you wouldn't do very well trying to do that. Clock Tower is well known, but nobody really - I guess I don't understand actually, wouldn't your father have taught you this already? You must be friends with someone who would know."

That's why time seems to pass late into the night. I manage to loosen those reserved lips with my astoundingly simple question. She can't believe I haven't heard of it. She can't believe my father is dead, that my studies are all personal. That I know of no other magus to lean on. Doubt flashes across her eyes, as well.

"You said earlier - you're from Fuyuki? How long did you live there?"

Truthfully, my whole life. I say as much, though I don't quite know what happened to me - the me that must have been here before the I-me was me here. Does that even make any sense? How did Archer ever cope with there being another him?

"How could I have not heard of you? What high school did you go to?"

I know I'm terrible at lying, so I don't even try. It just makes her all the more incredulous.

"You're nearly my age, went to my school the same year as me, lived close to me - how could my family not have been aware of you?"

I plead that I'm telling the truth, though her gaze betrays nothing but stoic calm. She does doubt me still. Still, she is motivated to answer a novice question - it is harmless enough she must think.

"What do you want to know about Clock Tower, exactly?"

"Well, everything you know would be useful. It's a famous school, right?"

"It was just a school at one point," she sighs, "The school, for some. But if you really don't know this, I'm assuming you don't know of Atlas? Or the Sea of Estray? What about The Disciples of Simourv? I'm assuming you at least know about Tenshu!"

I hang my head and squeeze my favored hand, "My knowledge is pretty limited."

She tries, but fails, at giving me a reassuring smile with those small lip, "I'm not really that knowledgeable myself, but I'll explain what I know, alright? As a greater whole, magi live all over the earth. I'm sure you know this much?" she weakens the harshness in her tone, realizing the implied insult.

I grin, "I'd like to think I'm not that thickheaded. Of course."

The corners of her lips turn, "Okay. So, there isn't one single body which governs magi. Historically speaking, there used to be many organizations that held influence over small parts of the world. They codified the laws surrounding magi would naturally respect, as well as settling disputes and providing social gatherings - this all became more widespread after the fall of the Roman empire in Europe and later with the decline of China and subjugation of India in Asia. Magi collected together to preserve their knowledge and livelihoods against the rising tide of strife, famine, war, disease, and institutionalized superstition." She adjusts her wire thin glasses on her subtle nose, "With magi outnumbered greatly by surging populations, conflicts erupted between these factions. Inevitably, treaties were signed and people kowtowed. In effect, there are four, maybe five main coalitions of magi in the world. My father said that in parts of Europe, only three such factions are usually acknowledged to exist. They are Clock Tower, Atlas, and the Sea of Estray."

"Why those three?"

"Politics, I guess. Clock Tower is the largest and most influential of the three. Their current headquarters is in Britain. Clock Tower itself is an old school, maybe as old as Merlin, I don't know. Only the gifted and the exceptional are even invited to take placement tests there."

"I see, so it's a place like that. I suppose everyone would want to study there?"

"I guess. Not me though."

"No? I could see myself, well.. I never imagined I would become a normal magus, but to learn a little more would be nice."

She laughs, "It's not like I don't want to learn either, but it's not that simple! Even if I were talented enough to attend, father said few Asians are invited; it's like an exclusive club. Even if I were as dignified and meritorious as my sister, I'd have to marry into some great family to stand just a chance of being recognized." There's a slight sneer in her words, disdain dripping from her voice as soon as she mentions her father and sister this time.

None of that sounds promising. Rin really had dreams to go to a place like that? She did act like a princess, but the chances of her being recognized by such a far away- Wait. What am I thinking? Despite being Japanese, Rin is amazingly talented. She has a natural drive and a stubborn will. Maybe she would be able to reach a place that high? If she really wants it, it's already hers - that's how she is.

If Rin is there, that just means she is much farther away from me than I could have guessed.

"What about Atlas then?"

"I don't know as much about that group. The Atlas Academy is somewhere in Egypt. They're also an old school for the elite, though it's easier for someone like us to attend with the right recognition or scholarship."

"And before you ask, the Sea of Estray is the most obscure of the three. They were originally the largest faction in Europe, but fell out of favor hundreds of years ago when most of their junior magi broke away to form the Clock Tower that is known today. Estray operate a few schools in Europe, but they're nomadic. I don't even know how people join their organization. It's not an honor to be invited though, the impression I have is only criminals and rogues study and ally with them."

"I see. So all three organizations are large school networks?"

"That's just one function of them, but it's the most visible part. Clock Tower has its own enforcers and judiciary systems. They execute magical law in areas they control. They've also institutionalized a system of government - but I'm assuming you understand that much, right? You do understand how Second Owners are chosen, right? Or how the secrecy of magic is upheld?"

It rings a bell. Tohsaka's voice chimes in - I vaguely recall that detail. The harsh look Sajyou is giving me means I should definitely pretend to understand, though I'd rather be set straight on it.

"Second Owners are like landlords, right? They oversee small parts of a city - and all the magus-related issues there." I rub the back of my head, " As for maintaining secrecy, yes I understand that."

She stifles a sigh, trying to offer a comforting smile, "In effect they are landlords, yes, but there's a lot of history buried there that's worth explaining, like how Second Owners obtain and pass on their ownership. Also in how they interact with Clock Tower, Atlas, and other ancient hierarchies," those tired eyes sag, "But that's too much for me to babble on about tonight. Does that satisfy your first question? Or is there anything else?"

"Well, while we're on the subject, who are the Tenshu?"

She tires not to sound weary, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. The Tenshu are the independent magi of Japan. We have not decided to join Clock Tower or Atlas and instead have formed Tenshu - it's more like a non-aggression pact between the many magical families of Japan. Despite it being like a loose federation, there is also a joint school managed by Tenshu. It's run right here in Kyoto. I've taken classes there, though it's pretty infrequent. You would only go there seriously if you were intending to apply for apprenticeship."

With that, her talkative spirit evaporates. I don't have the energy to dredge up any more questions either. My heart is pounding badly enough with the knowledge I now possess. We share a hasty farewell and I slip on my shoes, wondering what time of night I'll reach my room.

* * *

I dream a strange dream that night. It flows like a gushing stream, myself carried in its frenetic current. Hasty images intermingle with my past experiences - fights with Berserker and Lancer enhancing the ferocity of the desperate action.

Most vivid and alien about the dream lingers most distinctly - A man with a striking resemblance to Kojirou sits in the heart of a massive desk, stroking a finely trimmed goatee. He is surrounded by darkness.

In the morning I rise, stretching and exercising. I sharpen my senses and head out. It's later than usual because it took me so long to get back last night. I return on time, however, to meet Ayaka and Kojirou again.

We gather in a spacious conference room. There are many opulent desks arrayed side by side. The room is much too spacious to contain the small group that convenes here. There is myself, Ayaka and Kojirou, seated on the left, each of us occupying a desk.

When I arrive, Kojirou communicates that I sit down and not say anything. It makes me feel like I'm back in class again. I just bow my head and sigh.

In the center of the room before a projector is a man whose skin is ashen. He has white, wire-thin hair. The cap of his head bald. Narrow, dark eyes squint out at us, his hands folded behind his back. A long jacket of coarse green folds over his round gut, a golden dragon blazing across the thick panel against his chest. Pudgy red lips move with a hypnotic rhythm, soft words addressing a man who leaves behind a manila envelope.

Upon leaving, Kojirou speaks up, drawing the attention of the man. He asks us to stand, so we do.

The man has not moved from his place, barely acknowledging us. He looks straight ahead, staring at the wall, his eyes stuck up towards the ceiling.

"Hello Sir. I hope you are doing well."

He grunts.

He turns toward Sajyou, the girl in glasses and a more firmly pressed tux, "This is Sajyou Ayaka," he begins, "I believe I mentioned her last meeting."

"You did."

He points to me, "This is Emiya Shirou."

Since the room goes silent, I feel the urge to be polite, "Please take good care of me sir."

"You may call me Gyuu."

"Pleased to meet you, Gyuu-san."

Kojirou looks at me sharply, but his scolding gaze is a tad unnecessary. Gyuu doesn't react at all.

"Since there are those perhaps unfamiliar, allow me to explain the fundamentals of this organization." He recounts, "Although contractors are not privileged to know the full extent of our history, it is sufficient to say we are an old and respected organization. You are wise to work for us. Your continued work will always be appreciated. Our motto is, 'Fine calligraphy should mimic stone tablets. The open spaces should permit a horse to gallop through; the written areas should be dense enough to block the wind. If one always calculates the white space and then allocates the black, rare results will be achieved.'" He smiles quite wide as he recites this, but the emotion rapidly decays into a stoic flatness. Suddenly, he turns. We meet.

His eerie eyes empty out like a void. It's nothing compared to staring down the likes of Berserker, but it's also nothing like I've ever felt before. A little shiver breaks down my back, but I don't break my stare with him. For his age, he stands very straight. When he speaks, his voice creaks like he's never had a drop of water in his life.

"The name "yakuza" is used quite flippantly by some. I might acknowledge the way we operate is like a cabal, but it's closer to say we are a cadre of very old and very close friends with many far-flung interests and far-thinking investors. Succinctly, business does come before pleasure, but business does not come before honor. In this way, we should be mindful of the corruption within our government today and how it brings us all down. Yakuza will use their influence to spread deceit, but we only care to enrich ourselves and the community; to also entrench ourselves in the community. Greed and vice are only taken so far here. There is such a thing as moderation, a quality unchecked capitalism does lack." He clears his throat, "Bushido is not our way, for finally, honor does not come before peace. War is a disruptive business, even if it is also lucrative. In tis way, we have great pride in ourselves, but few know our name or sort of business. We are quiet, efficient, and professional."

I don't follow this man at all. Thankfully, his eyes avert to Kojirou.

Two more men enter the room, taking two seats among the right row of desks.

He makes a mockery of a laugh, no enthusiasm or sincerity in the puffs of grated air. "Finally. Thank you for coming. I will not waste any more of your time." Mister Gyuu holds up a photograph. On it are the two men I tailed this week.

"These men are flagrant evidence of a large scale invasion in Kyoto. Our colleagues have shared our suspicions for quite some time. Now that we have discovered where they are hiding and what they are hoping to accomplish, I am asking you all to please discreetly deal with this problem."

Something worms in the bottom of my stomach. This is exactly the kind of work I didn't want to become involved in.

The man takes out a second photograph, holding up a picture of an imposing warehouse.

"We believe the focus is human trafficking." He puts the photograph down, "Though those details are not certain yet. I am sure you will be able to tell me when you all return."

"Upon your success, we will be owed a large debt from the surrounding families. However, it is paramount we keep this as low key as possible. It is possible we might provoke all-out war, should a fight break out. Tensions are very high. As you all know, war is not something we desire here." He deposits the photographs in the manila envelope and entrusts it to Kojirou, preparing to leave.

I'm about to shout my incredulous outrage when a hand slaps over my lips. I twist my head over to Kojirou, the goatee on his chin framing his grimace.

The door swings shut and he lets go of my hand.

"Don't do that again," he snaps.

"Do w-"

"You were challenging him."

"But he barel-"

"Our mission is clear. It is also clear he has nothing else to share." I'm startled by one of the new arrivals. I turn to him.

He wears a tuxedo quite like Ayaka's, a wakizashi and katana strapped under his right arm. The wakizashi is of modern make, forged by a machine on five in the afternoon the second of August 1991. It has seen frequent use and will sure chip after twelve hard strikes along its edge. The katana is much older, forged by hand at a smith in Tokyo. It has seen infrequent use and is in sturdy condition. It is sixty seven years old and was forged for a young widow as a token of sympathy.

His face is unblemished but dazzling works of art are etched into his flesh. Goldfish are the motif - orange and red hues like an evening sun set against his olive skin. They bubble up along his neckline, on the backs of his hands and peek out from the unbuttoned collar of his button-down shirt. He smiles, "Don't take it personally. It's just how the higher ups are." He stands up and approaches me, offering his hand, "I'm Yoshimura Ken, by the way. You must be Shirou?"

"Uh, yes." I grasp his hand firmly, feeling the thick callouses.

"We will be working together. Please take good care of me." He has a good-natured smile. He returns to his seat.

Sajyou and I look over at the other man, but he's no longer there. We jerk our heads toward the door, catching only a glimpse of his heel as he walks out. As silent as a ghost!

"Don't mind Manaba-kun. It takes him a while to warm up to new people."

Sajyou rubs her hands up and down her slacks, "Why did he leave? Don't we need to discuss this?"

"Nah," Kojirou interjects, "Lunch comes first."

I hang my head, wondering what I'm even doing. This can't be the only way? But I'm already invested in this. The least I can do is earn Ayaka's trust and earn a little money. As long as I can keep my hands out of the dirty work and keep "the peace", maybe this won't be too bad?

Only time will tell if I've made another huge mistake, walking this strange road.


	9. ａkàｓհ ìｃ

My head is still a little reeling from that whirlwind of a meeting. Doubt has been nagging me, but so has Kojirou's promises of money and power. I could use a little bit of both right now, if I'm to ever find Tohsaka.

Screeeeech. We take up seats in a dusty, dim luncheon. A round table. The walls are a flaky red. An old man and his wife serve us udon in steaming broth; fish and crustacean stewed inside. It's cozy and secluded, our party placed discreetly behind long black drapes, though a few others sit inside the private space as well. They look like Yakuza and given their disinterest in us, must be allies.

Typical of the times, there are karaoke rooms even here - and the thin walls do little to shield us from the pitched thrums of awful singing. I expect Kojirou, or at least one of the others, to get up and knock on one of the nearest doors in a typically intimidating Yakuza-like manner.

Nobody here fits that mold though. It's strange that we just sit here and mumble to each other, watching as the waitress sets down each bowl carefully. On the way here, nobody seemed to acknowledge our presence. We were just like a normal working class lunch crowd - I nearly bumped into several daydreaming businessmen. Kyoto is just so busy compared to Fuyuki, so maybe it's easy for the most dangerous of men to be lost in the swarming crowds.

Manaba-san walked far ahead of the four of us on the way, but finally he has taken his place beside me. It's possible to get a good look at him.

He's a lanky stranger with a cocky smile. Bags and crows feet nest under his eyes. He's let his dark sideburns grow out. On top of his sport jacket he has a worn leather jacket, aviators sticking out of his breast pocket. There is nothing unkempt about his dress, not a wrinkle or unseeming fade.

He eats hastily, finishing his food by tilting the bowl toward his lips and lifting it up. He leaves nothing left. The rest of us have barely begun to eat.

He sighs and says nothing, folding his hands in front of him. I can't gauge this guy at all, but then again, I've never been good at understanding people by first impressions.

Yoshimura dines at my other side, with Kojirou off to his left. Sajyou sits by herself at the very opposite end of the round table. She wears a wearied look.

"Have a little patience," Kojirou says as the bowl's feet tap the table.

"We have a job to do."

"Tonight. Not right this moment."

"Have a little sense. This isn't the time to-"

"Just relax. Time is something we have plenty of." Kojirou sinks into his seat and outstretches his hands behind him in a leisurely gesture.

Sajyou scoots her chair away from him, sitting a little closer to Manaba now.

"So we're going to lay the groundwork tonight as well? Why not, on the drive there - we'll just gloss over what everyone's doing and then waltz inside. What could we even possibly talk about? I mean, it's just a small like thing that-"

Kojirou wears a wicked smile, making Manaba's sarcasm wither.

"We need to discuss the team dynamics. I'm being serious here." Manaba-san insists, glaring at Kojirou's empty dark eyes. He leans over the table toward him while Kojirou's arms are behind him - his chopsticks sail smoothly toward the man's lunch and across me, carefully peeling thick udon noodles from the steaming soup, precisely pinching two out at once and into his hot slimy mouth without leaving a drop on the table, "And before that, the quantifiable objective: Do you know where this place is we're going to, Kojirou? Do you even know what constitutes a-"

"Why do you always do this?" he laughs, "Stop being a worrywart. We do, it's all clear." His hand swats Manaba-san away, no longer smiling, "And stay away from my lunch."

Manaba-san just sighs again, tapping his feet under the table as he sinks into a slouch, folding his arms over his breast in almost-defeat.

He complains, "This feels like suicide. A rookie and someone who's been flying solo for weeks - on the same team with us? Against who knows what."

"I'm right here, you know." Sajyou mumbles.

"I can handle myself." I say, forcing calm into my tone.

"Yeah, yourself - who said I cared about that? The mission. My wellbeing. Those things I care about. Really Kojirou - I think I want out-"

"Don't be an ass." Yoshimura jokes, "We have me."

"And you have such a glorious track record for being a one-man army."

He jabs Manaba-san with his elbow, "Stop being impolite to our new..friends." He adds, "Do I have to tell you again? Just as one man can beat ten, so a hundred men can beat a thousand, and a thousand can beat ten thousand." Manaba-san wears a deadpan expression as he listens, "One properly crafted man is the same as ten thousand lessers. So as long as you have me, have no fear." He flashes a smile.

Despite the pressure from either side of me, Manaba-san isn't ready to stop arguing.

I don't really care much for arguing myself and besides, I can't believe what I just heard. So I cut in before the argument can further unfold- "That's and exact quote from Go Rin No Sho." It's not even a question, I could never forget a phrase like that.

I don't know whether to roll my eyes are be actually impressed! He sounded so solemn saying it; actually, it's rather inspiring, the subtle passion that makes my skin tingle as I relive his words in my head. I feel the same, with Kanshou and Bakuya sometimes; I feel like I'm ten thousand, not one. Did he mean that genuinely? Or just as a jest? Well, he did quote the book quite seriously...

He smiles wide, "Oh? So you know of it."

"Of course! I, well, I don't read all that much, but I have read those kinds of books. It's hard not to, my first sword instructor, she was quite...passionate about Musashi's teachings. She believed more in efficacy than in beauty." It's more fair to say Taiga is so crazed she wields a cursed shinai of her own unintentional creation. She's taken some of Musashi's teachings - and the teachings of other famous samurai - to their most literal extreme.

"Please! Don't encourage him!" He stares at me with bulging eyes, glaring then at Yoshimura, "What he says is utter nonsense. It's as practical as the Dao or as consistent as the works of Sun-" but Manaba doesn't get to finish.

The Samurai nods, "Musashi's way is not the only one I follow, but it was he who advocated learning many styles, so perhaps the heart of my style is still his." He gestures to his wakizashi (which seem so natural on his person, not a soul seemed bothered by his carrying of it in public), "It's the second sword style that I ever learned - the two heavens as one." He concludes with a smile, his words thickly impassioned, "There are many ways to live, but the way of a warrior is a lonesome one."

Manaba sighs with a hiss, "When are you going to get a girlfriend."

Kojirou laughs, encouraging Yoshimura - who just drinks in a breath and speaks like Fuji-nee lectures, happily ignoring Manaba-san's dourness. "It's good to respect the gods, elegance, dance, farming, good drink - all those sorts of things; but do not rely on them." He says, "As a warrior, you can only rely on yourself. Support others you might, but you yourself are still paramount." He looks at me, "I have spent only a few moments with Shirou, but I can recognize he has the right idea. He is confident in himself and he may even have the heart of a warrior - We should believe in his confidence. Through such bonds, we will succeed."

Sajyou and Manaba share a glare of mutual disgust.

I realize I'm smiling - beaming actually. I shouldn't be, but it's hard not to, hearing such conviction from someone.

Unable to contain herself, Sajyou stands up. Manaba-san appraises her with a dry laugh. Her face reddens as everyone's eyes slide over to her, mine included.

"Leaving us?" Manaba says, "I suppose you don't care for this sort of conversation, hmm?"

"It's dreadful. I do not try to dress up what I do. We don't deal in just simple teamwork and we aren't noble vagabonds on some misbegotten quest for honor-"

"Sajyou-san, don't be so ashamed, w-"

Kojirou laughs as he places his hand on Yoshimura's lips, "Perhaps we should allow Miss Sajyou to steer the conversation for once? We shouldn't make her uncomfortable. We're all friends here."

"We aren't friends; We have absolutely nothing in common." Sajyou decides flatly, looking down at her hands, then meeting Yoshimura's eyes for only a flicker, "There is nothing to steer toward. It was a mistake agreeing to this."

"Is she always this sour, Kojirou? Why did you recruit a lady like this?" Yoshimura pulls his head away from that binding hand.

He then lowers his head to his lunch. slurping.

"She's talented. Glowing with talent, I assure you."

"No." Sajyou injects, "If I was truly `talented, I wouldn't be here. Kojirou-san, I'm going to decline this job. You know I prefer to work solo or just with correspondences."

"Oh?" Kojirou says, "I don't believe you. Sit down. You should feel privileged to be here."

"Would anyone work for you if they had the choice?"

"Missy, that stings." He sings with a smile, "Please, please. Why don't you sit down? You're going to make a scene. And, we're not ordinary thugs, you know-"

"All I know is, I'm here because I can get the job done. And this is the only job I seem to have a knack for. I know what I can do and I don't need to be-" She turns and pushes her seat out of the way, baring a blood-red face to Manaba, "Furthermore, I don't appreciate your doubt Manaba-san. If you can't trust me, then I'll decline this. Which I am." She takes a step back.

I reach out and snatch her hand before she can take another step. The speed - my reaction - it surprises me. But my bones resonate inside me. Sajyou's aura is so bleak, it makes me want to smile. She can't give up this quick. Something's stung her bad and it's making her heart pound so bad I can feel it in her hand. Manaba-san seems overly harsh, but he has good intentions. She needs to understand that. It's just like she says, probably none of us want be here - me included - but let's see this through as best we can. Our help has been asked for and we need to follow this through.

She can't return my feelings, her face scrunches up into a grimace even as I let her go.

I feel hot - realizing I just touched her without any regard. I try to apologize, but I can't seem to.

"Sajyou-san, please stay with us," is what I say instead.

"No thank you. I've stayed the polite amount."

I laugh out and point to her seat, "Please, you're the only sane person at this table. We need you."

She stares at me with narrow eyes - it's a good look for her in spite of those wrinkles. It reminds me of Rin's harsh gaze. This way, she looks less dispirited.

She takes a seat and I can't help but smile to myself. Sajyou doesn't feel like a stranger already. I seem to be in tune now with a faint melody of pain that seeps from her tone. She's someone worth helping; whatever is wrong with her, I haven't a clue yet though. If I had the right magical eyes, I'm sure I would see scars burnt into her flesh. But Sajyou's not got a blemish on her - all her wounds are underneath that. As a magus, it's probably not all that uncommon, but it doesn't make it any less pitiable to me.

I'm no social butterfly, I'm surprised I'm able to discern as much as I have. But, I have a vague idea on how to keep us together, "Regardless, tonight we all need to work together, for our own goals. Let's try to get to know each other, ne? What do you like to talk about?" I ask blindly, not really knowing much about girls. Fuji-nee, Rin, Saber and Sakura even after living with any of them for as long as I have - I'm still nowhere close to bridging the gap, "Magic, maybe? What did you use to defend yourself against me yesterday? It was really interesting."

And how do I connect with Manaba and Kojirou? Those two are just weird.

She doesn't look at me, "I don't really - Look it's not that I can't or I don't enjoy talking about it. I just don't really have the words to explain my feelings. Please understand." She bows her head.

Oh. Well, that's awkward. It was just a simple question and she took it so formally. It feels bad now. Even more so when she just sags and doesn't even attempt to say anything comforting or casual. Does she not like anything at all? Can't she humor me?

I stave off the stinging, "When I visited you in your room, I noticed - Are you an artist too? Or just your roommate?"

Her cheeks blossom, "P-please don't mention it like that Emiya-san." She glares at Manaba, who's wearing a curious smile, "You're giving them the wrong idea. And, I'm not really much of an artist." She mumbles, "But yes, I've done a little bit of that."

She goes silent again, so Manaba-san laughs quietly and Kojirou steps in to salvage the conversation, "Well, it's okay Miss Sajyou. We won't press you. Better to save your focus for today, at any rate - and not get too comfortable. A certain pugilist is right to an extent: We can relax once this night's over with." He thumps the table, gazing at the wiry Manaba, "But not to rain too hard on ya - I'm sure everything'll turn out fine. It's just going to be the four of you, but you can handle it. You can handle it, don't look at me like that. I would know. Of course... Just, you know, first time with Shirou here, so it's going to work a little differently."

"Your confidence is inspiring, chief."

He glares at Manaba, "There'll be a few rough spots, but you all can handle it. Should I say it a fourth time?" He rubs the back of his head, "Maybe I should have had the four of you meet impromptu-like? I didn't think you'd all get so awkward like a bunch of children about it."

"How about we go over that? What exactly are we doing." Manaba-san murmurs coldly, not taking the jab well, "They're from the Mainland, right? Or could they be from Taiwan? How do we know they aren't packing something really hot? These guys can't be that small, otherwise who would give a fuck. We're going to see heavy resistance, right?"

"You're right about some of that. But We don't know everything for certain just yet." Kojirou says, "Whoever they are, they have big connections; but taking them out right away will only create small waves. They haven't entrenched themselves, so what resistance you should expect - just typical stuff."

"I just don't want to be surprised by a sniper or a machine gun nest, or-"

"What kind of work have you been doing lately?" he shakes his head, "We know the risks, but We wouldn't send four people to deal with something like that." The way Kojirou keeps saying "We" seems to indicate a group other than ourselves... "Doing this right will benefit us and our friends. The risk is low, but we know to keep on our toes. People aren't accepting of change, especially surprising change. So there will be heat; they're definitely prepared for it." He smiles, "Which is why tonight's mission is simple: preserve the status quo. We just need to make them cease operations, it's about making a point... but not about thorough cleanup."

"You're being intentionally vague, Sensei." Manaba says sarcastically.

Yoshimura clasps his hands, closing his eyes in what appears to be prayer. Sajyou twists uncomfortably in her seat. Manaba cracks his knuckles over and over, giving Kojirou a stale look.

Eventually, Kojirou finally finishes his soup.

"So I've decided," he sighs, "Yoshimura, can you work with Shirou?"

"Yes."

"Manaba, will you be comfortable with Sajyou?"

They share a glance and affirm it.

"Good." He shakes his head, "Working as one unit is seemingly too much to expect in one day, but I'm sure two teams of two can work things out. I expect a lot of manual labor and only a little bit of creative thinking, but just in case...We will do a little auxiliary planning. You'll work as a team, just not as tightly as I'd initially been thinking."

"As long as we're on the same page, we can still support the others," Yoshimura agrees, "It is likely too large of a building for the four of us to cover as one. Am I correct?"

"Probably." He shrugs, "Honestly, as long as you find an effective means to send the message and read between the lines without creating additional problems for us, I'm fine with any approach."

"I know a spell." Sajyou says, "I mean, I've finally mastered it. It will make things easier for us."

"Hm?" Yoshimura says, "What kind?"

"Imagine a world where guns were never invented."

"It would be a more peaceful world, ne?" Kojirou says.

"Hardly." says Manaba.

"I can make that world a reality for tonight. Just a small space - but believe me, it works."

"That seems a little far-fetched, but it's a tempting offer. How does it work?" Yoshimura asks.

"Well, it's like I was saying-

"Lovely. Is there a way we could test this out, first?" Manaba says, "Not that I don't believe in hocus pocus or anything."

Sajyou sends dark waves to Manaba.

"I am a little inclined to agree." Yoshimura says gently, "It's a little too good to be true..."

"While Sajyou is generous with her suggestion, Manaba does have a point."

"Will you hold on a minute! I didn't even finish explaining myself! Honestly."

Yoshimura smiles at her, "It's good you're prepared to be enthusiastic about this, but I would rather-"

"You can try it out on me." I say, "How does it work? Is it an enchantment to our clothes to be protected from bullets?"

"Lower your voice a little Shirou. We're among friends here, but nevertheless." Kojirou hushes.

Sajyou stares at me - her face twisted disbelief and frustration, "There's no reason to test anything on anybody!" she fumes, glaring hotly at me, "Emiya-san, that would be putting you in pointless danger..if I really weren't qualified." Her voice crackles, "I'll give you all a demonstration outside, since you're all so anxious you won't even let me finish a single sentence." She steals an angry breath, "It takes some preparation for an area as large as a school or shopping mall, but for just a small space, it's only a few minutes of work. It's not like I was going to say I could do it without giving a little demonstration. Give me a little credit." She picks a clam shell out of her soup and flings it toward Manaba - the wet thing landing in his napkin, "It stops guns from working. So I should be able to satisfy you. Like I even want your trust at this point."

Ouch. That stings. "So it's a bounded field?" I venture to ask, but my question goes unheard.

"Thank you," Kojirou says.

"Yes, thank you Sajyou-san," Yoshimura chimes.

Kojirou says to Manaba, "See now? Miss Sajyou is very bright. You're in capable hands."

Kojirou pays for the meal and leaves a tip so magnanimous that it causes a small scene. We later adjoin in a crumbling parking garage, where Sajyou produces a small bounded field around a wall through a ritual which seems to only tax her slightly (requiring just a drop of her blood) and takes about a minute to perform. A silenced pistol is fired three times at it, but the bullets harmlessly drop to the ground upon nearing the wall, sounding like rain drops as they pitter patter to the cement ground. She wears a small smile.

It's there Kojirou acts more like a boss than a lounge lizard. We sit inside a white SUV and he passes hand-scratched notes to all of us, detailing the warehouse we'll be hitting tonight. My stomach scrunches up as he goes into grisly detail about the amount of traffic that has been going through the building as of late, with vans frequently departing full of cargo. "Suspicions men" have been seen patrolling the alleyways near it. He says that given the circumstances surrounding it, we should expect fully automatic weapons and at least fifty on-site personnel, even during "off-hours".

"Just figure out what they're doing and a few of them bleed. If you have time, put the place in a condition where they'll have to shut down operations there. That should be enough. If you can make them bleed a even little more, We would greatly appreciate it."

Manaba and Yoshimura are at ease in their seats, only asking a few minor questions before being set straight. Sajyou has nothing to say. I have a million inquiries myself, but I restrict my questions to just one.

"Are we expected to kill anyone?"

"The moment it becomes too difficult to cloak your presence," Kojirou looks straight ahead, "You should be prepared to make that decision. If you can't, you should back out now." He smiles in his seat, "It's quite hard to make people wary of you, if you don't crack a few skulls at least."

Later, Kojirou suggests we split up into our pairs. But Yoshimura says he has things to do and Manaba says he would rather not. So we agree on a time and place to meet and go our separate ways. But before Sajyou can slink off, I dart after her, cornering her outside the garage.

"Do you think you could answer my other question?"

"Huh? Oh. Right now?"

"Yes."

She sighs, "Yes, I suppose."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Let's just make this quick, I need to prepare for tonight and there isn't a lot of time."

We begin to walk in a direction she seems familiar with. The concrete walk winds down a few busy streets before ending up at a dewy apothecary. Herbal remedies are sold in glass tinctures and tightly fastened baggies. There's a bench along the wall near the entrance. We walk in and I sit down, breathing in a plethora of earthen scents that ruffle my senses. The air is light but potent with pollen and mold.

She sits next to me and angles herself slightly away, "What's your second question?"

"It's okay to talk about this here?"

"Yes."

I take her word for it.

So my words come with the pound of my heart, I nearly choke on them and say, "Do you know anyone by the name Tohsaka Rin."

Except, those aren't the words that come out of my mouth at all. Fear seizes my tongue and instead I ask her, "Why are you a magus?"

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, what I meant to ask-" I didn't mean to say that at all, it's just- "What I meant was, Well..."

She lets out a monstrous sigh, "Please don't apologize. I don't mind..." she shifts uncomfortably, "It's just an unexpected question. I guess you're asking because you yourself had a choice in it?"

I flinch at her tone, "Well, I did. My old man, he didn't want me to become what I am... but I insisted."

I thought he was so cool. I wanted to be like him. It was as simple as that. To stand up and fight for what's right; to save others instead of oneself... I don't regret my choice, but I could see myself, in another universe, going along with his wishes. Maybe in a more peaceful world, maybe in a time and place where he doesn't die. Maybe it's more unlikely than that.

Sajyou wears a faraway look, then breaks me out of my reverie with a defeated whisper, "It's not an unfair question, Emiya-san. I'll indulge you, if it'll help you understand. You didn't have a normal upbringing, from what I can gather." Her hands wring together, "My older sister was the one who would have inherited my family's line. My father did not have the son he had wanted, but my sister was very strong..and beautiful. He was happy for her. And then there was an incident ten years ago - and she passed away. My father was deeply hurt. He had neglected my training and I hadn't wanted to be a magus anyway, so I wasn't really suited for it. However, he insisted on training me." She lets out a heavy breath, "I'm not really suited to being a magus. I could never live up to his desires. But I'm not doing it for anyone other than myself anymore. Even though I'm not as skilled as my sister, I guess I still have a little pride for it. It probably doesn't make any sense to you, but..."

"No, it's fine." I hesitate, then stand, looking down, "I appreciate you telling me."

My lips are dry. There goes my second question. I guess it's not a bad question to get answered, but it doesn't help my aims at all.

"No." She launches, "It's not a satisfactory answer, so how about I give you a more noble reason, maybe something a real magus would say." She cracks a tiny coiling of her pale lips, "I might as well tell you a story. Maybe it will explain things better." She stands and we walk over to a bookshelf. "I remember coming to this shop years ago. It hasn't changed at all." She drags her fingers across the books, "Here is a copy of it," she says, reaching out and taking a book out - it's not like all the others, which contain analyses of various herbs and roots. The book she pulls free is called, Translations and Annotations: Common Legends. "I have one of these at home," she explains, turning to a specific page, "You haven't read this before, have you?" She shows me the cover - it's a drab leather binding with gold leaf kanji, English cursive scrawling under it.

"No."

"Despite it being about common legends," she says, "I haven't run into many people who know or read about this type of thing." She buries her nose into the book and flips through the pages, going very still and then recounting with only a slight waver in her voice, "I can barely pronounced it, but it begins with, Her name was..Mahtiel. She was beautiful. She was the child of an angel." Does it really say that? "She had hair the color of night, her body beautifully proportioned. Her lips were like lotuses and she could most certainly walk on them too. She was modest and temperate. She was trained by her father, a doctor of the village in which they lived. She healed the sick and gave to the lame." Sajyou's eyes never lift up; I feel a little awkward being recited to like this... "But where she lived was a place of much strife! Terrible beasts came to her village and killed many. Frightened but emboldened, Mahtiel sought out aid from a hermit deep in the mountains against the many warnings of her people." Sajyou skips a few lines with her eyes, her tone sounding pleasantly jovial, "When she arrived, the witch refused to speak her name. She was old enough to be Mahtiel's grandmother. Her eyes were red with the blood she had taken and her skin was ashen like the thunderclouds that darkened the wintry mountains and like the many graveyards she had crossed to reach her. Beseeching her, Mahtiel asked the witch to aid her village. In her purity, she thought she would be given help out of compassion or shared benevolence, but the witch only understood the world in prices and exchanges. She wanted an apprentice to pass on her teachings to, but being outcast from society, she could find no one capable of inheriting her teachings. Mahtiel was impressed by the witch's facade of wisdom and power and she was tempted by her kind words to do what she thought was right. She had said to the witch, "I'll learn from you until I can find someone more suitable than me." And the witch had agreed with the humble girl. However, it would be too difficult for the witch to travel to the village, so instead she promised to teach Mahtiel all that she could in three days and three nights. Mahtiel would be the one to save her people, the witch had promised." Ayaka continues, "Mahtiel learned about the basics of magic from the old witch. She learned that there was no external force to call upon for magic, that it was something innate to everyone. Through akashic meditation taught to her by the witch, Mahtiel awakened an ancient understanding in prana and od. The witch helped her understand how to use her inner self to empower her body, mind and spirit. To change the external world through internal force. By the third night, Mahtiel could truly heal the sick and turn away beasts. She was very elated and returned to her people. She walked upon the earth like an angel reborn, banishing the foul spirits that had possessed the wildlife, going so far as to exile the silent demons that stalked her people during the night. The village was initially grateful to Mahtiel, whom they believed to be an angel. They celebrated her return and she became very admired. However, in time, her power made others become jealous or doubtful. Through the peace afforded to them through Mahtiel, many began to dwell on her in a dark way. They began to call her a witch. At the height of her sorrow, Mahtiel stayed within her home, helping those who would still come to her. Some continued to trust and supported her. She grew in confidence. She developed her skills with the intent of bringing benevolence to everyone. She began to use her powers to alter herself from without. She yearned to be loved by all, to end strife among her people. And so she enchanted herself to embody her notions of angelhood." Ayaka closes the book and puts it back on the shelf, "But Mahtiel was foolish. She succeeded in making herself beautiful, in perfecting her outward behaviors. But she lost the inward ways that had made her strong. There was one of those whose affection she desired. Even as everyone began to accept her once again, one whom she had cured of disease did not. Through his faith in his God, he saw through Mahtiel's guise. He did not trust Mahtiel, still believing her to be a witch. His name was Anyar. Mahtiel then coveted his reciprocation to the point of obsession, finding her growing magicks unable to tempt or tame the unyielding, prejudiced and hateful spirit inside him. Desiring his love, Mahtiel tried everything she could. Instead, Anyar struck her down. Her spirit broken, Mahtiel's enchantings then abated. Everyone now knew her true nature. Escaping nearly with her life from her village, she returned to the witch." Ayaka trails off, mumbling as I stare starkly at her, "And with her spirit broken, Mahtiel pleaded to the witch to help her once more, that beasts in the guise of men and with them strife had returned to her village and she did not have the power to handle them. To this, the witch smiled. She touched Mahtiel. In a deeper way this time. She passed on all she knew. For many weeks, Mahtiel studied, imbibing the witch's Old words. Depression let her be exploited. Her love was twisted into bitterness and revenge. The witch poisoned her with her sickened words. To complete her graduation, Mahtiel performed a rite. Laying her lips upon the witch, she pledged herself to Angra Mainyu, the witch's true name. It was at that point the witch took her. Those lotus lips became dark, her skin ashen pale, and her eyes scarlet. Mahtiel returned to her village and ended everyone there, except Anyar, whom she took as her warrior and slave."

When she stops and I don't say anything, she clears her throat.

"Oh, sorry." I say, meeting her gaze, "I'm just a little overwhelmed." I rub the back of my head, "You tell the story very well, but I don't really understand..."

She nods, wearing a thin look, "It's the best explanation I can give, without it getting too... personal." She looks away.

"Sorry, um, I don't follow. So are you saying you're the angel?"

Her eyes flicker back, "Or I'm the witch."

I laugh, "Well, your skin isn't ashen, and your eyes aren't red..."

"I guess not."

"But you feel that way?"

Now I really don't understand her. I look her up and down, examining her fragile, lithe frame. She's really nothing like Tohsaka, or Sakura... or anyone I've met. I can't even begin to bottle her up like I can Yoshimura or Manaba.

It's a shame people aren't like swords. I could grasp her troubles easily, then.

She nods, "I'm really a twisted person. I appreciate your concern, Emiya-san, but you shouldn't get too close to me. If you do, you'll begin to understand that I'm working for the people I do out of necessity, because I'm not suited for anything else..." she bites her lip, "You seem nice. So maybe you should disappear after tonight. I'm sure you could become someone's apprentice in Tenshu if you applied. And if you pick the right time, they'll just assume you were captured or killed..."

I let out a bewildered laugh, "Me? You don't know me that well yet."

"Maybe not." She begins to pick things off the shelves, her hands shaking as she gathers up jars into a basket. She calms them after a little while.

I can feel her discomfort, so I step away.

I grin, "Thanks Sajyou. I'm glad I found out you like telling stories." I don't know what I'm tanking her for, but I feel like I must, "I'll leave you to yourself. See you later tonight." I back up towards the door.

"See you again."

* * *

Later, I wind up in that ritzy place with the glamorous female hosts. It's not very far from where we had eaten. It's nearly dead but a comfortable kind of shady at this time of day; the foggy afternoon glow outside hidden behind walls of shadow. Now that I'm no longer forced to be here, I'm a little more at ease with myself; however, that disturbs me. This sort of place shouldn't put me at ease. Everyone is being fake again. I also feel out of place, wound up in overly casual jeans. Still, I'm seated without a comment. I don't see the hostess I spoke to the other day. I can't recall where I put her number either.

What do I expect to find here, I wonder? There are a few people swinging in the beat of an electric song; but I can't dance. I've just eaten, so I only order a small gyouza appetizer. There are a few businessmen relaxing with some dolled-up hostesses, but no one particularly troublesome is around. I eat in silence and chat with a young hostess who seats herself across from me. She doesn't linger very long when I don't have much interest in feeding her purse.

I waste time for a while and then leave. I feel a little more refreshed, but I can't be carefree. A lot weighs down on my mind. Along the way to the meeting spot, I recall Kojirou's words. Am I prepared to kill? Yes. I will kill anyone who deserves that. But death is not just; it's a last resort. Whom I'm working for may not be just... and if it's clear they're the kind of pushers I think they are, I may need to consider them my future enemies as well. Kyoto isn't my home, but I have a duty to protect it from those that would harm its innocents. Being in the red light district has shown me a different shade of person - but not everyone here is worthy of death. Yoshimura and Manaba have feelings, as does Kojirou. So too do their enemies. I should endeavor to save as many lives as possible, while condemning injustice. This situation isn't very difference from the Holy Grail War. I had been prepared to work with the smug likes of Lancer and Archer, for the greater good. Whether my current employer is comparable to the nefarious works of Caster or Gilgamesh or not, I'm not sure, but I can tolerate small evils for now, if it will let me gather a greater understanding of the big picture. I've decided to fight because it is something I can do; just like Sajyou, it is really the only thing I consider myself to be good at. I hope to avoid bloodshed, but I can't afford to hesitate in the coming battle. I owe it to my team to not hold back...

Even as I try to justify it, it stings my heart.

Prostitution, drugs, trafficking, mugging, murder, bribery, slander, and conspiracy - even the Japanese government is known for its widespread corruption. I can't stop all these things on my own, but if I can make even a slight difference - maybe I will be able to live up to my impossible ideals.

So I approach the SUV again, finding Yoshimura leaning lazily up against it. He is clad in his formal black suit. He still holds two well-aged but modern samurai blades. Manaba climbs up the slope of the garage next. He has gauze wrapped around his fists and a lot of weight underneath his leather jacket. Sajyou shows up next, mimicking the straight style - a pinstripe black suit freshly tucked against her skinny thighs and slight bosom. She has a plastic bento in a dangling white bag. Manaba holds up a radio when she arrives, explaining, "Kojirou called. He said he'll be giving us orders over the frequency on these radios." He passes Yoshimura, Ayaka and I small radios which can be clipped around our ears.

We flip them on and he comes in.

"Loud and clear," I say.

"Yes." Sajyou says.

"Great." Kojirou buzzes, "I've given Manaba directions. What sort of preparation remains for you folks?"

Sajyou looks at Manaba, "We'll need to drive within a kilometer of the building. I need to be somewhere high up while I conduct my ritual. I've brought enough supplies to ward off the whole building."

"Will it be taxing on you Miss?" Kojirou asks.

She shakes her head, "No, I should be fine."

"Don't overdo it." Is all he says.

So we drive to the neighborhood in tense silence. Many of the buildings we pass become increasingly worn down and broken. Impoverished gather in groups on the streets, contemplating the heavenly glows in their cigarette stubs.

We park at a dilapidated high-rise near a sunken bar. Climbing creaky iron steps up a perilous fire escape, we reach a balcony overlooking the factory. We don't sit around in plain sight, so it's safe for Ayaka to conduct her ritual. Everyone watches it in quiet curiosity as she places a white linen on the cracked brick overhang and opens up her carried bento, revealing it to be full of alchemical items - precisely arranged and isolated from one another.

She takes what she says to be twinned flesh-colored mandrake roots. She cuts them exactly and places them in the center of the linen. She then draws a circle of chalk around cloth. Out of the bento then comes a vial of crimson - congealed blood - and she carefully dribbles a ring of the sappy scarlet around the roots. The blood seeps into the cloth and blends into it, dying it pink. I can feel something off in the air as she breathes with wet quiet pants, holding her clasped hands above the seal she's created.

She begins to mutter, but none of us should be able to hear her. She's a soft voice and we're high up, hearing the winds scrape between the buildings, scattering her light voice. All I can catch is-

"Fish skin and ivory drawn to worlds of dark,

And Branwen means do miss their mark."

She makes a repetitive chant, holding her voice in a low hum as she sprinkles red and white petals with pinched fingers. Steam then rises from the ring of blood and in a flash the linen catches alight. The plumes of smoke die away as a soft fire ignites the linen - smokeless and scentless. It catches everything and burns away... leaving nothing; not even a trace of ash. Everything is consumed by the fire - it's daunting, the kind of fire I remember witnessing on my - the fire of my birth.

A little sweat is formed on Ayaka's brow as she stands up, closing her bento shut.

"It's done."

"Neat show." Yoshimura says.

"Thank you."

With that done, we wait until dusk.

I don't remember the passage of time. I just hone my swords; contemplating next steps.

* * *

Yoshimura is the first one in, ducking low under the raised metal loading door. I follow second, watching as he reaches back, smoothly unsheathing that curving blade of his. He holds it low and back away from him, motioning with his other hand to follow - Sajyou and Manaba to split off from us.

Inside it's just total darkness, towers of stacked crates and tightly packed shelves sealing off a little space from any light. With the night of day at our back, I can only see through a little beam provided by my slim tactical flashlight.

I hear Sajyou and Manaba slink away up the stairs, their footfalls light raindrops on the dingy metal. After that, tunnel vision takes over. I'm just following Yoshimura, the man taking graceful arches with his legs, making not the slightest sound.

I realize that I should arm myself when we stop suddenly. There's light just beyond Yoshimura's wingtips. We meet eyes and share a nod. My hands stretch open and Kanshou and Bakuya slip into existence silently, like they had never left my side.

Three

Two

One

Go!

We dash out, expecting to find someone slacking around - but there are dusty bags marked 'Fertilizer' all around the dusty mottled floor. Yoshimura steps over them and I follow, my eyes peeled wide. We peer around a shelving unit that stretches to the arched ceiling high above, watching quietly for several anxious breaths. A trace of the moon escapes through a small window in the ceiling straight above.

We circle around and stop cold.

Finally, we catch sight of two men dressed in dark, dodgy clothes. They're carrying tightly sealed crates in their arms under their chests. One of them has a flashlight stuck to their chest, casting a weak cone towards the floor as he shuffles.

"Follow." I think he says, but he couldn't have said anything, because they would have heard us. It must be my imagination, with the dark playing upon my senses.

Yoshimura darts down and I sink onto my knees, waddling from behind. We crawl under metal desks set up on the warehouse floor, following the sounds of the footsteps. The two make light chitchat in Mandarin, they voices undulating with amusement. Closer and closer we reach them, sounds now collecting into idle conversation. At least ten voices are ahead. Maybe more.

With them, the hum of vehicles.

Yoshimura and I size up underneath one of the tables, hearing as - watching as those footsteps flicker past us. A tablecloth hides us from view now, a heavy table shielding the excited grasps of our tense breathing.

I don't think either of us knows yet when to make a move, but it isn't our judgment to make. Then the worst and best thing happens and our precious moment is lost. In the distance, gunfire plays a wild melody. Someone shrieks. There's a massive clattering, then silence.

I hear Chinese - a panicked call echoing in desperation.

"Peng, Li, Chiou!" one barks gruffly, terse orders streaming out of his throat.

Yoshimura reaches up and presses his one hand flat against the table above. I feel his intent and clench my weapons tight, pressing my fists up against the table - and shove!

It goes flying, hurled off its feet into one of the startled men. The table is decently heavy, knocking him down with a painful crunch on his knees; pinning him in place. He's in total agony, prone on his back. His narrow eyes are wide with fear, staring straight at us.

Yoshimura runs up the overturned table and launches off it, lashing out with his blade. It severs a startled man's head clean, a bloody fountain gushing all over as it topples down.

The dusty men dressed in browns and grays have the presence of mind to gather themselves. Someone barks an order, but before that they instinctively reach into their pockets or along the belt, yanking out pistols and automatics. None of their weapons have any notable history - but I can grasp their hollow names. An Ingram MAC-10 is held by eight of them, a skinny snout on its end to silence the noisy muzzle. There is a burly man with a grungy black face mask over his bearded face - he has a JS 9mm, a less compact automatic rifle. Soviet style Tokarev TT-33 are the most common weapon, solid black handguns with chunky, heavy grips.

To see so many weapons pointed at me is startling, but I continue forward. I have faith in Sajyou, so I just charge. They open fire at us, sparks and dust exploding from all sides.

I know it doesn't do any good, but I shout, "Put down your weapons, or I'll kill you! Don't make me do this!"

It's hot words leaping out of my throat, but how can I say them with any conviction? We're the aggressors here. Still - this is the path I've chosen. I fly into a sprint at them, hearing the clicking and popping of their weapons and I just charge blindly. I must seem insane, recklessly assaulting an entire brigade of armed men. But I don't feel a thing as my hands move. Kanshou and Bakuya arc down and break the air like lightning strikes, cutting off two hands at the wrist. I turn and kick one of them that's off to my side, blood gushing from his friend's wound - he staggers back in shock.

I'm a little startled myself. They weren't prepared for that at all. And neither was I. That man's hands are now on the ground, a pistol still clenched tight in one.

They continue to fire, smoke and spark pouring out of their weapons. Comically, the bullets just roll out - their momentum robbed before they can even leave the chamber. The sounds of metal bullets dropping like nuts from a tree fill the warehouse - plink plink plink. The machine guns spray and spray, ejecting shell casings as they fire in total disbelief at us.

Yoshimura decapitates two men with a single twirling strike. He moves with fidelity and grace, the tip of his sword rising up along a third man, carving a lethal wound from his gut to his neck. I'm struck amazed by it - the amount of strength that requires - and his katana is so worn down, it could easily break if he tries that again!

I hear more gunfire in the distance. Fighting erupts above us. There's a lightshow coming straight above. I glance up as the men surrounding us begin to back away in panic. I see a cluster of men trying to snipe us on the catwalk, shooting at a slight angle away. Further away, more shots clatter. People are scrambling - dozens and dozens of people in this warehouse - all alerted to the cacophony of shouting and gunfire.

Kanshou and Bakuya come down on two arms, separating them at the shoulder on each side of me. That man had held a long serrated knife - but for some reason his attack was so slow and feeble. It was too easy to dodge and follow up with a severe blow. I cringe as blood splashes all over my arms, soaking into my clothes. It's hot. Disgusting. I step in between my enemies, attacking with simultaneous swipes - I frenzy, flaying the air with my attacks. We're both scared now. How could I go through with this?

At this point, men are throwing down their arms now. Some reach for knives, some of them swords - others back away, calling for help or outright fleeing. I kick one of the panicked yakuza in front of me, desperately keeping my back to the wall. Yoshimura doesn't let himself get stacked up against, aggressively lashing out with large slices, opening wide wounds in the throng of enemies.

I am the bone of my sword - but these people aren't like the monsters I've been fighting. They may be heartless murderers and thugs, but dispatching them - it doesn't require me to treat them like a butcher might a pig.

Now begins the counterattack. An adrenaline cocktail surges in their hearts - three move at once on me, not with the clumsy anti-coordination of a mob, but with the trained focus of a squad. Two men swing vertically, while one lunges, boxing me in, trapping my movement and leading their short blades with quick lashes. They're scared, but determined. I'm just one guy to them. And now they're forcing me to...

This is the only way.

I step into the middle blade, angling my body aside to sidestep the lunge. Kanshou comes down, severing just a finger, the long razor blade dropping with it. To my left Bakuya strikes out, a deep wound embedded now in the other attacker's bicep. I step back with fleeting feet in time to counter the third attacker again, the tip of Kanshou catching his thigh and rending open the outside of his dark skin-tight pants. I could have taken his life, but I hesitated.

I pay the price with a hiss. I twisted my wrist with that abandoned attack. I should have followed through, but then he would have died. Can't they see this is fruitless? I've fought Heroic spirits before - and this is nothing like that.

Yoshimura dances around his foes, displaying an advanced form of sword play. I catch moves in my periphery, my mind easily recalling them - as though his knowledge is being channeled through is blade and into me.

Fear and pain stall the trio long enough for me to grab myself against the pulsing pain in my wrist - I duck forward and step step cut step cut step cut cut step cut - leaving four symmetric wounds on each thigh, on each triceps. They stumble over, oozing blood - crippled beyond movement with their tendons severed. Agony wheezes out of their chests and I step around them, feeling power course through me. They might recover enough to live their lives, in time, but none of them will ever be fit to fight again.

Common men are nothing compared to Heroic spirits.

Their numbers are great, but once I adjust to their style of reliance, they can't come close.

Yoshimura ends the life of the Captain of this group here. Or, whatever title he may have held in their organization - it's apparent as I watch on. The experienced thug parries an overhead strike from Yoshimura - but the blade is drawn back like it's made of paper, smoothly sliding free from the submitting sword below. A second attack whips out before the man can even adjust his guard, cleaving off his ear and burying deep into his shoulder. Yoshimura kicks him in the groin and unstucks his blade, pushing the man over. He collapses into blood and terror-filled screams.

The remainder run - ducking out through an open door. They trample outside, screaming. It's not good that they escaped, but the clock started ticking as soon as our cover was blown anyway.

We overlook the carnage, noting the crates loaded into two white vans before us. The sound of gunfire continues to echo far off on the other end of the warehouse. Metal doors are yanked open with the sound of grinding chains and humming motors. Vans cough to life in the distance, horns bleeting as people shout.

"They're pulling out, Emiya." Yoshimura whips his blade around, cleaning it of blood, "Whatever it is they've been housing here, we need to stop as much of it from getting out as possible. That will prove the superiority of our employers and nip this conflict in the bud."

If you say so, Yoshimura-san... I just nod to him, feeling numb as I behold my bloodied hands. "I hear them to the east... why don't you get the opposite end?"

"My thoughts exactly. Let's meet up in the center."

"Understood."

And he dashes off, prompting me to wheel around and break into a run, rushing to the shudder of shattering wood.

So much for teamwork and planning. This place is just a madhouse now. This is an unmitigated disaster in the making.

When I leap over stack of crates, landing in a prone crouch, I'm greeted to the sight of hasty workmen slamming crates down into the open back ends of inconspicuous silver vans. Many twist their gaze toward me, communicating among each other in hasty Mandarin. I wish I could speak it, just so I could tell them to surrender now...

It feels wrong in my gut to attack these people. At the same time, I know many of them must be foul-hearted. It makes it a little easier, but my stomach is knotting from the carnage I just unleashed. And now I must begin all over again. I regretfully lay my blades on each side of me, calming my breath as I step closer.

"If you surrender, I promise none of you will be harmed..." I say once more - but it's fruitless, they don't seem to understand a word, eight ski-masked yakuza pulling out their weapons. I can feel the their smiles swagger as they stare me down. They must think I look like a joke, holding up Kanshou and Bakuya at them. They probably don't realize one of their teams is already downed and they don't stand a chance against me.

As soon as they begin to pull their triggers at me, my circuits surge to life. My muscles push harder than any Olympic athlete's, letting me throw myself into the first two with a staggering blow. I pound both pommels of my blades into each of their temples, both men's skulls banging painfully on the van doors behind them. I push off the van and turn as I hear plink after plink after plink - bullets dropping dead onto the cement.

A circling slice digs into one man's arm. It comes off. I swing down on another's forearm, nearly removing it. Kanshou and Bakuya gracefully release the flesh, cutting so clean that they don't get stuck. I feel Archer's memorized movements possess me, my attacks becoming like water. It's so scary, how efficient his movements were - how they perfectly guide my hands. I swipe as one man stumbles backwards, his eyes bulging at the twirl of my body. I leap and spin, Kanshou and Bakuya coiling like a cyclone around me. He trips back and falls onto his ass - my foot kicking away his downed gun. In the next moment, he loses three fingers and an eye. I shove my foot between his thighs and twist around, a man's arm ringed around my throat. I saw it reach around in my periphery, so I am already moving - Kanshou lodged in his stomach before he can even think to snap my neck. Bakuya joins her brother blade. They slide free with a gurgling squelch, thick blood spraying all over my back. I stomp on his foot, grinding my heel down his shin, and push hard. He collapses wetly.

One of the silver vans flies off, tires skidding with a shrill scream. Instantly I fling Kanshou, wanting to cut out a tire. My arm moves, embraced by the memory of a beautiful circular swing. The dark sword swirls in the air, rending right through the back left tire and wheel, severing it in half, before shattering apart.

Regret and indecisiveness fade away as I become a living, breathing sword. I follow the blade's arc with the projection of my mind. My hand opens immediately and then Kanshou returns to my opened hand; so easily like the prana just drips from my fingertips. The van skids and shrieks to a halt after spinning wildly out of control just outside.

I feel a man try to stab me from the side, bur I step back and swing. His arm lands on the ground behind me - and then Bakuya is embedded in his gut. I watch him as he crumples to his knees, a pitiable look in his eyes as he looks up at me, the life rapidly leaving him. He's too weak to even curse me.

Prana is like lightning in my body, enhancing my every sense, my every twitch becoming a blink. I have never fought like this - full tilt, causing collapse and calamity with each blow.

My breathing is wild, hot steam rolling out my throat. A man crawls away from me, leaking blood into a drain in the floor.

Footsteps lightly slink down stairs behind me. I turn to see a man descend from the catwalk above. He is watching me carefully, sizing me up like a hawk. Does he think I am prey?

"Hao jiu bu jian." He says, chuckling.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you." I actually say that in English, hoping he might at least know a more common tongue. But he doesn't react.

This man is different, so I let him step off the stairs. He dresses in a pinstripe gray suit, matching gray slacks. A white collared shirt lies underneath, thick white cuffs cinching around his wrists. He has a lean face, a jagged scar along his jaw. Those of eyes of his are a cobalt blue, his dark hair feathered with curly bangs in the front. A distinct nose shaped like a dagger pierces between his slanted eyes.

The man's wrist flick out - I feel surge of panic in me - from somewhere concealed in his suit, two swords slip out. He attacks before I can think to move back, so I concentrate on defending. Kanshou comes up to block Bakuya and Bakuya reaches up just in time to deflect Bakuya.

He steps in and down, applying tremendous force as we lock eyes. His lithe frame and stiff suit hide his strength. I bend under him, turning out of a scissor attack.

He doesn't let up again me, following through with a careful whipping of Bakuya. My own Bakuya blocks it, but the force of the matching blows cracks my inferior blade.

Only now, does it fully register that this man is wielding my own weapons.

"Who are you?!" I lash out, but he simply dodges. Panic flares as the tip of Bakuya catches my arm - I narrowly avoid it, but it manages to flay open my right sleeve, exposing unblemished flesh.

It's too late, I'm already dead. Distracted by the near cut I fail to follow up against his next assault. One strike comes for my groin so I parry it, but it makes me lean down and forward and his Kanshou is too far from my Bakuya and I can't possibly deflect it in time-

Lucky. So much desperate prana floods me - my muscles clench and cramp and I actually slip back, my body bending awkwardly to the right. I stumble back as his attack misses narrowly. I feel the brush of death slip just past my throat. He rushes in and attacks once more - one, two - three horizontal slices - my body is so suddenly overclocked that I don't realize what I'm doing. I'm just backtracking, stumbling over debris, narrowly evading. This man simply cannot be human. He is too fast. I hurl Kanshou and Bakuya and to my surprise he does the same. Our whirling boomerangs batter each other - his returning with a whirring wobble, mine shattering into pieces of starlight.

While this man's blades are better than mine - I have an infinite supply. Another pair gradually fill the air. I steal a boiling breath.

My tunnel vision breaks apart and the world goes into focus once more - I hear the roar of an engine, one of the silver vans kicking up soot as it roars. Those smoldering tires peel off.

The man chuckles, lowering his blades.

"Zai jian." He murmurs, his voice almost electronic - vanishing without a trace, his body just flickering out. I don't feel his presence any longer, so I lower my guard.

My heart continues to pound in my chest. I'm less worried about that man and what he represents, more worried about the images that flood me. A little more guilt creeps into my hands. There's a lot of blood splatter all over me. I realize I'm not thinking straight - I almost died. I need to focus. Why did I agree to separate from Yoshimura? That was stupid. We need to group back up. I can't handle this alone - I'm just a rookie, even if I'm more than skilled enough to handle these thugs.

As I begin to move toward the stairs that stranger came down, my eyes darting all over to ensure he's not going to sneak up on me - doubt again seeps into my mind. I have killed, or at least permanently crippled, many people here. I step over their body parts or their blood and hear again the echoes of sick clenches, my blades cutting away their flesh. Did they deserve it?

Maybe.

Maybe this is the justice I've craved to carry out since I was a kid? But this feels wrong. Yet with my skills, it's not possible for me to protect my enemies from their own foolishness. I don't have any option but to be a sword right now.

"I need to get stronger," I realize now - that I am nowhere near my peak. Archer had said I wasn't even worthy of a percent of his total strength; and this clearly proves it. Archer could have dealt with these guys without slaughtering them.

I steel myself, pushing my doubt down and resolve myself to do better. I can't be forgiven for what I've done, but maybe I am helping the sovereign people here by weeding out this foreign intrusion. Maybe it's not quite as bad as I feel.

I hear fighting in the distance, but it's impossible to know from where. The tall shelves cause sound to reverberate or be muffled. The darkness makes navigating difficult too, only specific paths are brightly lit, tall obstructions cast long shadows. I am seeing things that aren't really there, strong glares or dull flashes in the dark. Only the moonlight above through the many small, foggy windows in the ceiling give me any bearing.

I dash toward the stairs to the second level catwalk, stopping only for a moment before one of the loaded, driverless vans. Dead men lie slumped over. Blood pools in thick puddles. One man is standing up, clutching his oozing stump. When he sees me, he flees with a shriek into the night.

I approach the van and strike one of the wooden crates inside with a pommel. The wood is hard and sturdy, so I cleave it open. What I'm expecting is a powdery substance, or bags of money, or maybe even gold bars. What I see instead is bizarre - paintings. This box is stacked with six Western oil paintings, their dimensions similar, about as tall and wide as my forearm. I put one knee inside the van and open another crate, finding a soft marble bust. I don't recognize the face, but it looks like a sculpture of some monetary value. I can't very easily grasp their histories because they all seem very old. I would need more time to even hope to get a faint understanding of them.

I don't really have the luxury of that time, so I just back off. My allies may need help, but I've completed an important objective by noting what they're transporting. These people are thieves or smugglers, maybe of fine art. Peculiar.

So I hop up the nearby stairs two at a time. Kanshou and Bakuya are in my hands. A little fatigue makes me feel the weight of each step.

Upon the walk, everything is easier to see. Lights are attached to the metal grated walkway underneath my feet, projecting dim cones that aren't very useful below on the ground, but illuminate the walk way in a useful manner. I follow one man fleeing for his life through one aisle below, another three trying to scout out the opposition while they stay perched under some desks. They're carrying assault rifles in their arms and trench knives on their belts. I hurl Kanshou and Bakuya together, those sharp swords whirling through an ancient, warped wooden shelf - it causes a cascading chain reaction of destruction. Heavy boxes come down upon overburdened shelves. The trio turn around in time to behold an avalanche of bulky supplies that buries them with a crashing topple. It shakes the whole building.

I start running again.

But then I break my stride once more and project again as someone bleeds into focus; a man ahead of me holds a radio, his eyes overlooking a battle in the distance. His pallid face turns toward me as he hears my loud thumping steps. He shouts something hurriedly and starts running away. I think he is unarmed.

I could probably kill him, but if he is unarmed, do I have any right to? I give chase down the walk, but my eyes catch sight of Sajyou and Manaba in the distance. Sajyou is keeping a comfortable distance from her enemies, chanting with a deep look of focus in her gaze. Her outstretched palms generate small arcs of lightning - they spark down metal rails and through conducting puddles of blood. Glowing lights spark and fizz, spraying shards of light all over. I really have no idea what kind of magic that is - but it's at least very effective at freaking out the yakuza that surround her. They cower behind wooden boxes, prone. Their arms are discarded, only a few still holding onto metal knifes and katana.

It looks like they can handle themselves, with Manaba-san throwing his lanky legs around, fluid kicks piercing into the guts and flanks of his enemies. A solid punch to the jaw makes a horrible cracking sound I can even hear over all the hollering.

I stop and look at the person I was chasing. He's realized I'm not chasing him anymore. I'm just beholding the battle. He must think I'm crazy, leaving an enemy to his own whims for quite a while. I feel quite removed from the action up here and maybe the adrenaline is not helping me think straight...

The Chinese man in a cheap dark suit and ski mask wears a wrenched expression. He looks so spent, frustration and panic preventing reason.

"Ni shi shei?! Ni shi shei?!" he shouts at me, over and over, his voice finally cracking into a sob.

I feel sorry for the distressed man, even if he is my enemy. Should I? He would probably say such an attitude is weak and has probably hurt countless others. I can just imagine his cruelty to others. But, I don't want to lose this part of me.

"I'm sorry," I say in English - prana pumps into my thighs and I dash forward, smacking the frightened man as hard as I can with the flats of Kanshou and Bakuya. The attacks aren't quite effective, slapping across his face with two bony twangs. A dazzled look fills his glassy eyes, so I shove a pommel into his skull. I wince as I hear a popping sound, the yakuza dropping his radio and falling backwards.

Well, he's not dead at least. I step over him and descend a long flight of stairs, readying to flush out the enemies that have pinned Sajyou and Manaba in place...

Below, I come upon them all. My heart is pumping hard as I shout to them.

"Lay down your weapons! This is your last warning!" I really don't want to do this, but at least I get their attention. Flanking them from behind, they realize they're cornered. And maybe it's fear, or just the resolve to finally make their stand, they come out of hiding, half of them moving towards me, while the others try to swarm Manaba between the towering crates of cargo.

This is it. I can feel it in my bones. We'll clear this group, I'll tell Manaba-san what I've found, we'll rescue Yoshimura above, and then- then we can get the hell out of here. I'll need to dwell on the mysterious person who attacked me and what he's connected to.

I step forward, wearing a dead look on my face. I stare down my first opponents, they're just a stone's throw away. I ready my body to break into a spirit, to intercept them-

But before the battle can even unfold for us, there's a sound of heavy shattering and cracking from above. Part of the ceiling gives way and spears through shelves along the cornering wall.

Every one of us looks up. What's going on? Is someone on the roof? I jump back as debris smashes into the spot where I'd been standing. Something up heaves shingles which rain down on us. The yakuza aim their flashlight-mounted weapons up, illuminating something- something disturbing. It takes steps which echo like a solid bell and a horrible edifice emerges from the night sky above. Fists come down, battering apart glass and chunks wood. From between the shards of the foggy glass in the ceiling, a gargantuan beast looms, the full light of a brilliant moon against its jagged back. More glass shatters as it floats inside, a massive shadow now hovering upon the ring of concrete beneath our feet.

The clawed wings of a bat unfurled let the intruder slowly sail down to the ground from the bleak sky. I gaze on in disbelief as misshaped feet that look like they are made entirely of coarse orthoclase impact the floor with two simultaneous dull thuds. With the small amount of clearing available, the creature from above lands with a powerful grace. Hunched forward, an impervious spine straightens, letting the apex of a nude, muscled chest the complexion of dark clay crackle to life. Stone grinds against stone as cold muscles clamp tight, clawed hands underneath the joints of those wide wings rolling into heavy fists.

A granite maw howls, "I will smash you! Crush you! Tear the flesh from all your bones!"

Glowing eyes of gold stare me straight down, paralyzing me. The creature's mouth sitting with a hideous underbite, jagged fangs of rock sticking straight up, it smiles a grim smile.

A powerful, unsettling aura becomes us. It seeps into my bones. Were I not already acquainted with the likes of Heroic spirits, I would be trembling so bad I wouldn't be able to think. Flight would overcome my thoughts and I would be cowering in some forgotten crawlspace somewhere here!

All around us, the remaining vagrants freak out. Some have stumbled backwards onto their hinds, while others are creeping back, rubbing their eyes or already in the throes of panicked shrieking. Some turn and run away towards the vans, but the winged beast throws itself high into the air with a powerful lunge. It swings through the air with powerful flaps of its paradoxical wings. I hear a terrible crunching sound as it slams down on someone just beyond my sight; a gleeful war-cry exploding in my ears. It stomps forward, disappearing completely behind tall metal crates and parked mobile trailers.

"I am the bone of my sword..." My aria strengthens my resolve, banishing the creeping of fear along my spine.

My eyes snap to my team. Ayaka is far, far back. That's good. I think she's safe. She's hiding behind stacked wooden pallets, her vibrant eyes bugging out of her skull. Sword-san is on the upper level, pushing back a katana-wielding thug on the creaking metal walkway. He's sweating bad, exhausted from the fighting, but he looks like he's still in a dominant position, but he's on the brink of freaking out, inexplicable fear gnawing at him suddenly. At least his opponent seems to fair the same fate.

Manaba-san is nowhere to be seen. Where did he go, I just-

I'm snapped back into action when the creature soars up high again, swooping down to scoop up two unarmed men in clawfuls of flesh. They holler as their ribs are compressed, snapping with vicious embrace. Gurgling crimson, they're dropped like useless dolls to the ground.

"Cowards! You dare flee from glorious battle?" the creature's voice calls out in English, his voice beckoning through metal and wood, resonating with the very earth.

I look over to Ayaka, totally lost. I shout as loud as I can at her. Does she see me? Does she have any idea what this thing is?!

"Ayaka! What the hell is that thing?!"

She shrieks at me in panic, so I climb up top boxes, running toward her. I gather up beside her.

"Shirou!" she shrieks, moving behind the pallets, "W-We need to- get out of here! Right now!"

I grab her shoulders and stare into her eyes, "Get a hold of yourself!" I shake her.

It doesn't really help, but she swallows, "Shi-Emiya- I think - Is it a gargoyle?"

A gargoyle? What the hell would a gargoyle be doing here? I don't even know what that is.

She bites her lip, mumbling so softly in the heat of the moment I can barely hear, "But what would something like that be doing here!"

The stone soles of its long feet strike the ground once more, snapping somebody's spine in the dark distance, behind the tall metal trailers. I hear the sweep of a fist flying out, slamming a man with a wet squelch into the sliding metal overhang doors just ahead. They bend like tissue paper.

Is this beast on our side? But why weren't we told? It's safer to assume it's hostile, especially since Ayaka is frightened. We would have been told about this, I think.

"Sajyou-san," I'm now witnessing it, keeping my eyes pinned on the cusp of the beast's visage over the blocking crates and trailers beyond, "I think you're right," I remember the calm of those nights with Tohsaka or Saber, gathering the strength to lead, "We do need to pull back. We didn't anticipate something like this. Where is Manaba-san? Yoshimura - he's above."

She pushes my hands off her shoulders, her strength returning to her "I don't know!"

She doesn't sound confident. Does she want to keep fighting? But why. She said we should run, just a second ago.

"He's somewhere down there. I just saw him." She murmurs, her voice filled with shock, "But he might be hurt now."

"Then we can't leave. We need to look for him."

If this thing isn't on our side, it's suicidal. I can hear the weight of that thing's power. We have no idea what it's capable of or who it's working for. We were told not to start a war here, but the operation has turned south too fast. We can't just keep going, innocents might get involved. At the very least, this is proof we don't know the nature of our enemy at all. I can only hope this is a sudden ally - does the Yakuza I'm with make deals with monsters of myth?

I shiver at the sound of someone pleading for mercy, a pitiful incomprehensible gibbering silenced by a heavy pounding. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. And then it dies out.

Scum, maybe, but nobody deserves to die like that.

The creature's quaking steps echo louder and louder as it maneuvers slowly toward our direction. I'm keenly aware of the hushed sounds - my team are the only humans around, besides maybe some on the upper levels of the facility. I realize what I need to do now.

"Sajyou, look for Manaba. I'll stall for time."

I only manage to take a step before its hulking frame steps into view from between two metal cylinders.

"I appreciate you waiting for your turn," it grumbles, standing tall with a mighty expression.

He steps closer and closer and I feel the chill in my bones as I near it too; letting me behold that blood-stained visage in full. Spines of white point outward from its terse jaw, a nail reversed on the tip of its chin - imitating a stout goatee of stone. Chipped ivory rings pierce its nose and earlobes. A ridge crawls up along the top of its skull from the base of its spine, small spires striking off its slope and along the mantle of each brow.

Titanic shoulders house the beast's strength, rotating with the sounds of crushing gravel as it swings its thickly muscled arms. Stone scales throb like varicose veins on the tops of its fingers.

Without prelude the beast suddenly rips opens its relaxed wings, climbing up high. It twirls around and crouches on the ceiling, its feet grasping a beam. We lock eyes just as he pushes off with tremendous force, flying down like a meteor or a swooping bat.

Any normal human or magus might have died right there. There is no spell I know of that could be casted in enough time that would stall such exploding force. All I know to do is to roll forward. Purely on instinct, I roll and roll and roll, just nearly escaping ground zero. The gargoyle crashes with a shuddering breakage, the resulting shockwave knocking over bottles off shelves. Clattering fills my ears.

When the dust settles, I'm standing again on the other side of the narrow arena. The gargoyle stands up unscathed, turning towards me with the slowness of a confident predator.

I contain my voice tight in my chest.

"What are you? Are you a gargoyle?"

"I am."

He reaches down, fingers beautifully blending with the unfinished concrete floor - scooping up flowing chunks of stone into his hand like it was putty. His arm hurls forward, trying to lob the thick bolts of stone shrapnel at me - but the stone immediately plunks to the floor.

"What is this sorcery? Argh!" he swoops up high again, rolling in the air and crouching on the ceiling once more. His huge wings outstretched, he throws himself down at me again.

I need to think of a better plan. Instead of rolling, I throw myself into a crack between the metal containers. Squeezing my body through the crack just as he collides with a wrenching earth shatter, I pop out the other side and move as swiftly as I can around his sight.

The ground under me shakes.

"Coward! Do you think you can hide from me? I can hear the voices of any castle you dare to hide in!"

I nearly trip over Ayaka, who has since moved from where she was. I clamp my hand over her mouth and whisper harshly, "What the hell do we do?" a beat, "Did you find Manaba yet?"

She doesn't even get a chance to respond. I realize exactly what's wrong before she can only register what's going to happen. I throw us to the floor just as a stone body drives right through a metal shelf. Right where we had been crouching, everything gives and collapses around the beast. His body continues onward, slamming into another set of metal shelves which crumple under the wrecking force, sending heavy boxes raining - thankfully missing us.

I scoop up Ayaka and stumble ahead, my words drowned out by supreme fury.

"Fight me cowards!"

I duck out of sight and drop her, just in time for a breathless whisper to reach my ears, "Gargoyles are immune to magic! And- I have no idea what they're weak to. Legends might say sunlight, but-"

"-the sun isn't rising any time soon. Are you sure Sajyou? Just - try to think of something, I'll stall him."

"W-We need to get Manaba-san and Yoshimura-"

"Just stay back!" I push her away and turn - Kanshou and Bakuya come to my call. Prana floods my arms and I step into a grounded punch, slamming both crossed blades on that bulky wrist. With my sweeping attack, I brush his stony spearing punch aside - all of its wild force concentrated within the desire to shatter me.

I back away, just in time for Sajyou to shout, "You need to pierce his armor some how!"

Pierce his armor? I just swung two blades at almost the exact same point - it didn't even leave a scratch on that concrete hide.

"Heaven or Earth, I have you bested mortal!" I feel the ground shake as he flies up into the sky, twirling around onto the ceiling once more. He's like a giant spider or bat, finding me within seconds up there. He locks onto me and hurtles through the air. I just barely manage to roll away, cringing at the way metal and brick bow and meld under him.

Fire fills my lungs as I lift my knees high, putting as much space as I can between us!

"Why are you doing this?!"

He immediately soars up straight, perched on the ceiling again.

"I fight because I must. Because there is no choice. Because I must not leave a single soul alive, no matter how cravenly they fight!"

Another one who must fight because he must? Why do those words ring so hollow, coming from another?

I keep running.

"So you're saying someone is making you fight?!"

He watches me from above, "Perhaps. Why are you fighting, boy?! Who makes you fight? Perhaps it is the same for me!" he drums his chest with the pumps of his fists, "Cause or no cause, fighting for its own sake - isn't that enough?"

His words strike me as true, at first. Why am I fighting? Haven't I used similar words to justify it to myself? But for some reason, I understand better this time. In battle, my head just seems to run clearer. The answer comes clean, despite the people I'm currently working for, it's so obvious!

"I am fighting for my ideals!"

Why do I ever doubt myself? That's all I've ever fought for. Even when my ideals come into question, I'm still fighting for them.

He laughs between each breath, "You? You and every other misguided magus! All Fools! All Liars! And Tricksters! And Schemers! All of you, more senseless than a worm!"

I stop and press up behind a sturdy mobile trailer that's parked along near a sealed overhang door; catching my frantic breath. This thing is much more manageable when it talks.

"Tell me, who are you working for?!"

"Why should you care? It makes little difference! You will all die here anyway!"

I hear him push off and slice the air like a missile. Knowing exactly where he's headed, I just break into another desperate sprint with prana and od blending together in my veins. I jump head first into a roll, just barely avoiding the entire destruction of that trailer. The gargoyle just crunches through it, his stony wings spread wide to slow his descent and widen his impact. His clawed hands are fully bloomed, sheering metal like it's paper. He's stopped by a metal container against a wall, imprinting his huge frame into the steel. I turn around and feel my back press into a wall, stealing my breath as he immediately breaks into a sprint this time. Not at all impeded by his crash, he takes off and hops, carrying all his weight with a tall glide, feet hovering just centimeters off the ground.

He swings his claw forward and I respond in kind. Howling with a rage inside my heart that I channel it all into my arms. Prana pumps and surges through excited circuits.

The claw is caught in both my readied blades, the solid X of metal holding fast again the creature's immense power. My arms are fully reinforced, throbbing with all the prana I have to muster.

We lock eyes.

I grind back into the wall behind me, feeling my feet, thighs and arms ache with the force carried against the floor. But I keep my arms locked - imprisoned in struggle of strength.

"You're wrong! It makes all the difference! I will win - because I am not a slave!"

He snarls, blowing molten steam in my face.

My bones are singing, ready to give. This kind of full-out attack rivals the sturdy blow of a Heroic spirit's. But my words dent the armor of the beast, I can feel his doubt. It gives me just enough room to struggle.

I throw his attack aside and tumble forward through his legs, rolling and rolling. I feel like I could just collapse but I somehow pick up into a run - my body somehow remembering what it was like to fight like this again. This body, which was not my own until recently, somehow recalls exactly how to cope. It's like I've always been a natural at this. Or maybe, maybe this body has gone through the same?

I sprint around the corner, hearing the beast pant and grunt in shameful fury.

"You are wrong!" He shrieks.

I nearly collide into Sajyou again. We meet eyes. She's speechless for some reason. But desperation grasps her.

"Emiya- Shirou- I just- his wings- there's just no way - do you realize we can't get away from him if he can still fly! The only reason we're not dead is because he can't fly to his fullest in here! We definitely can't leave, not until he's crippled! As soon as we're outside he'll-"

What is she still doing here? Doesn't she get it? This is the worst place for her to be!

"Okay! But what do you suppose we do?"

"Don't you know anything other than how to swing a sword?! We need to break through that armor!" she pleads, "The best magic I can do, it's not even a help here!"

"You said to pierce his armor, but I can't just do that."

"You have to try!"

My danger sense spikes. Without looking my swords vanish and I grab Sajyou and hurl us aside, narrowly avoiding a perfectly vertical descent. His feet dig a knee-deep trench into the concrete, stone shrapnel spit all over us.

I'm prone and forced to get up. Sajyou is dazed at my side, but scarcely alright.

I yank her up hard.

"Just get out of here!" I push her away and swing my hands, Kanshou and Bakuya flickering back just in-time to parry a hasty swipe that comes from straight in front. Following through the parry, I try my best to swing as hard as I can possibly manage, striking Kanshou against the anvil of the gargoyle's forearm. There's hardy clank - the slightest bit of stone armor chafing off. Kanshou cracks on the pivot of its edge and the recoil of the strike makes me stumble back.

I somehow dodge the next attack. I feel a gush of air swipe at me. A millimeter closer and I likely would be dead. Even a clipped attack could shatter something internally. I'm only able to deflect or stay an attack by flooding my muscles with prana - but my natural body unprepared would just crumple.

"You are like a mouse! Vermin, just die already!"

Hot sticky saliva erupts from my mouth. I attack blindly, swinging Bakuya in a smooth arc, swiping at the demon's eyes. His arms fly up reflexively and guard his face - letting me throw myself back and skid into a desperate run.

"Stop running!"

I break out of his sight but I hear him ascend with a sonic swoop, taking to the ceiling once more. I'm getting worn out, running around in circles like this. I need - Sajyou is right - I need to do something else. Maybe Excalibur or some mighty sword could pierce that stone flesh, but with the prana I have remaining (and even if I was fresh, I doubt I could do that and live), I don't feel like I could manage that. Excalibur or Gae Bolg are within the realm of my skill to project, but would they be stable enough to land a winning blow? Would I even survive their miscreation? Rin had warned me more than once not to attempt something desperate like that. I also know from experience that if a blade is not formed perfectly, it will suffer more than a single rank decrease in attack power and even sap me of my strength. Not to mention, there's no guarantee I could damage this kind of enemy even if I could perfectly project such a phantasm. Sajyou said he's immune to magic - which could mean he's as resilient as Saber.

Was there a sword I had that could cleave solid stone? No.

But maybe there's a point, an arrow, which could chip it. A piercing strike can concentrate all the energy into a single blow, while a slash is better for making a broader wound.

It's worth a shot.

A beautiful bow dances to life in my fingers. I saw this bow projected first by Archer. Its origins did not become apparent to me until I truly began to grasp its history much later.

It is made of yew, dyed black with his sorrow. It's a weapon he had made at first while stranded in the wild. Through the years he refined it, adding runes with a carving knife. The last time he had modified it, it was to help guide heavier arrows - one he had needed to land to protect Sakura from a great enemy.

Next, I project an arrow. It comes slowly to life, not quite as natural as forging a sword from my mind. I need an arrow which can pierce stone - the closest I can think of is something narrow, but sturdy. Aerodynamic tips on its end will help it soar, its length weighted to keep it flying straight; the head is smooth steel, the tip coarsely chipped diamond. It doesn't have an accumulated history - it's a poor fake, even for an arrow. But I need to try something different! The diamond tip - it's not fully formed, and its strength is diluted by my imperfect forming.

I can't afford to doubt myself, so I'll give it my all anyway. This might just work.

The gargoyle makes a challenging gaze with his glazed eyes, watching as I slowly smith the magical arrow before him.

"Do you think I will fall from that? You are a fool magi even among those fools."

I don't heed him. Instead I slip into an old pose.

I remind my inner self as I begin to move:

No target is erected.

No bow is drawn.

And when the arrow leaves the string.

It may not hit,

But it cannot miss.

So, I follow:

1\. Placing the footing.

I step onto the line where the arrow will be shot.

2\. Facing the enemy.

I turn so that the left side of my body aligns with my target.

3\. Seeing the target.

I look straight down the sights of my arm through my knuckles.

I aim carefully at the center of his left wing.

4\. Forming the footing

My feet slide halfway apart.

My feet angle so that they form a V.

5\. Forming the body

I find the center and seize a breath.

Parallel shoulders to parallel hips to parallel feet.

6\. Readying the bow

I grip the string with my right hand.

The left hand grabs tight the bow.

The eyes of mine stare out and I see through him into the wall past it into the night sky outdoors there are bright stars beyond even that and even another world beyond that and even more infinite empty space beyond even that

7\. The bow is raised.

My muscles creak as I flood them - the bow is so tense, requiring inhuman strength to bend. But it's possible by alighting even more precious circuitry inside my nerves.

8\. Drawing apart the space between both hands pull slow and spread apart the arms

The bow yawns apart.

9\. A full draw exists for not even a single breath.

It will not miss.

10\. Release

I feel something release only to be snapped back to reality. I'm so used to being able to follow the arrow's projection with my mind that when my hand lets go and the bow snaps forward - the euphoria of release that would normally follow is not there. I draw in a sharp breath as I feel it - everything just robbed in a moment. The arrow just drops uselessly to the ground and it all just stops.

My brain is stuck.

How could that have just happened?

What would Mitsuzu-

My mind is so winded I barely react in time. The gargoyle is laughing like a jackal in his descent. I stumble out of the way watching as his claws tauntingly scratch sparks along the floor, shredding concrete with just the tips of her digits.

My feet pound forward and I realize I'm running again. The weakness of defeat grips my heart and I'm only shaken out of my zombified run by Sajyou-

I duck behind a crate and bump head-first with Sajyou. My world spins for a moment and we both rub our heads.

"Emiya! That shot- what kind of pathetic attempt was that?!" she whispers ecstatically.

"H-Hey!" Anger bubbles in me, "I don't understand it either! It's like something stole my attack of everything I put into it!"

She stills, "W-wait, maybe my spell affected it?"

"I thought you said it would stop bullets!"

"Well, I said it's meant to stop the concept of a bullet. It also includes over things, like grenades, but it's not like I've had a chance to test it against everything!"

"The concept of a bullet?"

Sajyou huffs, "Yes- it's- Something like- There's no time to discuss it right now Emiya!"

But, the concept of a bullet. Maybe she means the concept of all projectiles? That would explain it. Or maybe not. I had been able to hurl Kanshou and Bakuya... Wait.

"Sajyou, do you think a sword - do you think the concept of a sword is stronger than the concept of a projectile?"

"What are you talking about? I don't understand what you're sayin-" our conversation is interrupted by the gargoyle's rapid ascent again.

He looks supremely ticked off.

"This is it! I'm tired of these games! You're done for!" Sickly green runes glow on the gargoyle's chest, arms, and wings. He tenses and shudders on the ceiling, his muscles readying to snap-

Sajyou tries to stay calm - she raises her hands and fires a flurry of weak Grandr shots, but they peter out rapidly, sparking against the ground.

"Dammit! My own spell is - even my best magic is just a hindrance!"

"It's okay, Sajyou-san." Calmness steals me. The bow still loosely held in my hand again - I hold it up once more; there's no time for a better position. "We have one more shot at this." I look at her, "You should back away in-case it doesn't work."

Never before have I ever done this. I've not the slightest idea how He managed it. Archer - the very concept of shooting a sword? Ridiculous. Only I could have come up with an idea at a time like this.

Sajyou doesn't listen to me, she just stands at me with peril unbidden in her eyes. I tune her out and gaze up at the demon above, watching as the milliseconds tick by. I'm gathering the last of my strength bit by bit, flowing naturally into the mindset - mushin. The same mindset that let me battle with my double.

What is a sword which can act as an almighty arrow? I want a sword whose nature as a sword is unquestioned. But, a blade that can fly.

"I am the bone of my sword." Those words beckon from my lips-

A bejeweled blade slips into focus slowly. I can feel its weight upon my mind. Its history is so powerful, so ancient, that I had kept it shielded in my mind since I had laid eyes upon it. Vajra, the lightning sword of unyielding destruction - the fleeting power of a lighting strike. Power unrestrained that it destroys even itself. Explosive energy so wild it is said that once used, the sword would be lost to the user until they reclaimed each unleashed shard or fragment. It is the kind of sword meant to be held as a priceless, unwieldy treasure. The very type of thing Gilgamesh would carelessly hurl from his ancient gate.

This sword touched divine fingertips, once. It is now threaded between my hands. The draw of its creation is so taxing that I nearly lose grip on it. A golden spiral unwinds with a yawn, a horrible fanged tip aimed straight up. It's not as hard to pull forth as Gae Bolg or Excalibur would be, but its power is still potent. It might be enough...

The gargoyle is unflinching, gathering his power with a haughty smile. He's enjoying this, enjoying my struggle. And with all the stored power inside him now, his wings open wide. A golden aura surges around him as he now pushes off, a typhoon of energy cresting behind him as he soars down to kill us.

I don't want to take any chances, so I target the easiest thing. His left wing again - I have seen it move and know its pattern. It is thin. Even if this beast possesses high magical resistance and strength, it will not be able to block this. Blocking this blade is not even a concept - lightning flows to strike its target, it is not something that can be avoided or impeded. Once it has formed a connection, it will strike true.

First, Placing the footing.

Next, Facing the enemy.

Then, Seeing the target.

Second, Forming the footing

Third, Forming the body

Fourth, Readying the bow

Fifth, The bow is raised.

Sixth, Drawing apart the space between

Seventh, Peel open the center

Eight, Release

The sword flies true. It is a sword. The very concept of a sword is anathemic to that of a projectile. It yearns to meet head on, Vajra the Indestructible Diamond Pounder, shatters as it is swung by my bow.

Ninth, Be the Shot, See Through Its Completion

It crackles to life, bleeding into a blue thunderbolt, a clap of power shattering the buzzing air.

I see it going, meeting that cold breeze. It is nothing, tossed aside by the storm. It strikes through, continuing, flying faster and faster into the sky beyond.

Fearsome lightning tears asunder a gaping hole in the wing. The magical force is dispelled behind the beast's flight. It flies off course, journey collapsing with a resounding bang - its solid head crackling against a catwalk. The metal railing collapses and gives way, the gargoyle tumbling down a story, landing onto its back with a gurgle.

I lower my bow, feeling it disintegrate. My hands are numb and electric currents sizzle along my fingertips. Prana dances in my body, exhaustion creeping - making the edges of my vision darken. I bite my tongue and steady myself and fall on one knee - I'm panting. Blood drips from my nose. I wipe it. It keeps dribbling. I swallow copper and someone shrieks, trying to steady me. I push them away - I don't need their help. I can do this.

I stand up. I push my aching body upright. Something doesn't feel right. I hear it breathing. I realize now it was a mistake - a mistake to waste that attack on a wing. I could have killed it with that, perhaps.

A massive groan fills the air. The gargoyle rolls over off a crushed metal thing. The ground shakes as he lands on his back. But, with a groan, it manages - climbing to its feet right in front of us.

I stand there because it is beyond comprehension for me. Or maybe I'm just - I'm still in Zanshin. Or just mushin? The mind outside the body - the mind of the empty heart. I am too focused to be shocked, or maybe I am too shocked to be focused.

He stands now with one wing collapsed, brittle stone fragments flaking off as it hangs down - it continues to crumble away, large pieces dropping off and shattering from the giant hole. The gargoyle's chest contracts rapidly, exhaustion finally revealing itself.

"For a... a human to best me, what an... what a feat... this is shameful," he wipes his brow, speckles of dust going airborne as he wrings his hand up and down, "I- it cannot end like this."

"Tell me who you serve." My voice is gruff, I swallow thick copper. A hand tugs at mine but I push it away and step forward.

His face twists, wrenching into a gnarled grimace, "I. Serve. No. One!"

Sajyou is earnestly tugging on my arm now.

"Shirou, just give up on it. We need to get out of here."

It's a sound idea, but it's too risky. I think? I can't think straight. But it doesn't sound right to me. Even with the gargoyle's wing clipped, he moves so fast on his arms and legs, barreling with the force of a Shinkansen train car. Even like this, we are no match. The factory offers cover in the form of numerous obstacles, but if we can even get outside, we will still be sitting ducks out there. This isn't a foe anyone can take lightly.

I can't think clearly, but I need to try, "Sajyou, you said - you said he's probably under someone's control. But even if he isn't - isn't a gargoyle just someone's spell?"

"Emiya- I don't know! What's that got to do with anything?" I shake my head, "I don't know what you mean." She pleads quietly.

"What I mean is- a contract! Is there a contract involved?" I struggle to form those words, my consciousness is failing, only staying awake from my will.

"Shirou, I really don't know!" She keeps tugging. It's not helping. We can't run, Ayaka. There are times when you have to run, but I know in my gut it isn't just yet.

But in a situation like this, when your best hand is already dealt, and it's just not enough? What's there left to do? I do have just one more card to play, but I can't draw it here, not with others watching. I could maybe reach into my inner world - call out my reality marble, but am I even in the presence of mind to even do that? And how could I follow through, trapping Sajyou and everybody else inside it as well? Even if it afforded me an advantage here, I can't resort to using that with them around.

Maybe if they retreated though? But would they tolerate leaving me behind? I don't think so, not like this. Everyone is running high. I can understand why Sajyou sounds so frantic. She's never been in a situation like this. I was just like that too, when I first bumped into Illya on that fateful night. Hell, Lancer before that had killed me like it was nothing.

I'm sorry Rin. I need to be selfish again.

There's no hope of what I'm going to do to work, but I just have no other choice now. In a worst case scenario, at least some of the others will get away. This path - it has the best chance of letting the most live on. I really have no idea if this is going to work, but I can't produce a weapon strong enough to break through this gargoyle's armor again.

What I need to win now is something that is not quite a sword, something subtler. Something...

"I have a plan! Just head back Sajyou-san."

Sajyou keeps tugging. And to my surprise, someone else steps down from a rusty stairwell, joining us.

Samurai-man- rather, Yoshimura my hobbled mind reminds- holds a broken shoulder, agonizing over me, "Emiya you idiot! Don't be stupid, listen to her! We need to get out of here!"

But it's too late. They just don't get it. I throw off Sajyou's hand and bolt ahead with stamina I know I don't possess, seeing nothing but red - hearing only the clatter of my footsteps. I'm already sprinting toward the stone beast - the titan's bulging lips breaking wide in a howl of delighted rage.

"Yes! You finally understand! It's your end now. Fight me and realize your death! I so crave to smear your kind upon the earth! Die with glory at last, you warrior fool!"

Kanshou and Bakuya, two great, enduring blades, materialize in my hands as I grind to a halt. I push myself to my limits, forcing prana into my hands to make them as strong as my resolve. I wind up and hurl myself forward, throwing both swords at the exact same moment. I break back into a mad dash, watching as they swerve and spiral through the air ahead of me, each one clipping the gargoyle's shoulders with a metal twang. He howls in laughter, bringing his mighty fists up at me as I close the gap. But I keep myself flowing like water, the breeze of my strikes and the bend of my body coming right in between the crushing swings of his sledging hands, getting so close that I can feel his volcanic breath explode through his stony nostrils. He howls in hatred, bringing his backhand toward me in a hasty swipe. I manage to jump back just in time-

"Steel is my body and fire is my blood."

I feel a stab of pain in my heart as she finally emerges, stepping from the wisps of darkness in my mind. A sad smile conquers the cruelness in her empty words. A woman fated to be great, betrayed. Passion corrupted, her ultimate desire yet remains...

Rule Breaker steps in from ethereal darkness, coaxing into my right hand. In my left, Kanshou waxes again. The beast makes a second swipe at me - and only through instinct do I tuck and roll down underneath it. It's a pitiful roll, but the gargoyle's movements are just a little more sluggish than before. It's enough time for

tumbling down and

coming up

out of the roll,

I make a single strike.

I spin around and around, whirling as the gargoyle tumbles on its feet to follow my dire blow, turning to pulverize me with his outstretched grasp. I roll again and again just because I've lost control, barely stumbling onto my feet. I twist and fling Kanshou at him; letting Rule Breaker slip away. I slam into something hard and my world spins. I've lost all sense of balance and realize I've wound up on the floor.

I feel cold sweat like a deathgrip on my skin. I try but I can't stand straight after that. I know I can't stop moving now - if I stop, that will be the end of it. I will not move any more. I force myself onto my knees and crawl, crawling into a run.

I keep running from the crash, feeling blood drip down my forehead; letting him chase me into a corner, far away from the others. He stalks me with less intent now, feeling my strength bereft? Or giving me a fighting chance? For a moment I feel a spark of hope, thinking he's given up on me. I have no idea what to expect now. Is he crumbling away, the magic unbound? Did I accomplish nothing with that desperate gamble? I'd assumed that...

"Why do you run now? Cornered are you now, human! Your just demise is so undoubtedly certain."

His hulking feet march forward.

"Wait! We don't have to do this." I slow to a crawl... I'm on my hands and knees. I twist toward him and scoot away until my back is up against something.

"Why do you continue to talk? We will fight - this cannot change!"

Leaning on a wall with my hand just trying desperately to prop me up again. I can't control my breathing any longer. This just isn't a fight anymore, and only now have I realized it.

The fact the beast is still standing gives me some clue as to what it really is, though maybe I'm just totally wrong about this. Regardless of my newfound insight, I'm at my end now.

"But," I wheeze, "Why fight me? I am not your enemy." You just suddenly crashed in here - killing everything in sight. What are you? Why are you doing this? So many unanswered questions...

"You are my Master's enemy, so you are indeed mine."

Using all my strength to stay straight; dropping my other arm, I'm upright against the thing propping me up. I bend my knees in another attempt to stand, "But you have no master now! Don't you realize? I've freed you!"

He howls, "Lies! Do you think me a fool? Do you think I can be tricked by your schemes! Magi are all manipulators, all deceivers!"

"Don't be stupid!" my voice is weak, "Think for yourself! Try it - just try it! Do you feel anyone binding you anymore? I swear it's gone. It has to be..."

"Don't hurt me with your lies!"

I'm so hoarse, it's difficult to keep shouting at it. I wipe my brow and drink the dryness that thickens my throat.

"I'm not lying! Try me! Tell me - who was your master? Who was it? Whoever it was - they just can't be anymore!"

"My master...?" he snarls, slamming his fists into the ground, causing it to crackle and split, "Curse him! Curse you all! Damn you, Tian Shin!"

I stare him down, feeling cooler than I should. My heart is still beating so fast, sweat pouring down my hands - my nerves throbbing with the force of that last desperate display. Even that last block still rings in my bones. There is no way my arms could take that much strain again. This gargoyle has the strength of Berserker, just thankfully not his agility. Each of his attacks is preceded by a greedy windup, without the immediate snap of that Hero's diligence.

"...hate them all above your kind, I do. Secrecy and sorcery, betrayal and blood magic, pacts and promises, conspiracies and charlatans!" he lowers his gold-jade eyes to me, "Make no mistake, I trust none of your kind. Yet," he breathes, "I feel strange. Lighter. It is as though you have spoken some truth, I do not feel compelled to end you, to strangle you, to dissolve your flesh into pulp. I cannot feel Him, the tug of His infernal suggestion..."

"You're free now. I broke whatever contract you had with your Master."

"My former Master." He snarls, "Worse than any Yama King, he is as cruel as he is devious! I owe you, foolish little boy, for freeing me from his manipulations."

I wipe my face with my sweaty hand, just spreading sticky sweat everywhere.

"You don't owe me anything, if you'll agree to tell me more about your former Master and to let us go."

He thinks hard, his face hardening into a grimace.

"No! No! It will not be so! I will not let you go so easily human - you have bested me in battle, you have liberated me from lies. I will tell you about my treacherous Master. And then, I will help you kill Him."

Kill him? I'm not sure I can commit to such a thing - never mind can I conceive of agreeing to working with such a ridiculous creature!

"Wait! I don't really know- I can't promise something like that. Is that really wise? I mean-" My body demands rest and my words cut out.

"You claim yourself a warrior of ideals! Yet you fear just another magus made of lies?"

"No! It's just - I don't know anything! Can't we talk this over?" Maybe when I'm not about to drop dead?

"Talk! Talk is trite! The Word is worthless! But very well, puny human. My former Master, Lord Tian Shin, is a man of less reason than a rat, fewer mores than a mongrel, bereft of every beatitude! He is dead! Dead and alive! He contradicts that which should be sacred! The living dead, a thing that Craves more control, Yearns unyielding power. He cannot be satisfied. He is a Beast! A B-"

I'm surprised when I hear voices on the other side of the gargoyle, he turns slightly, acknowledging them with a disinterested glance, "Who dares interrupt me?!"

"Excuse me," Manaba-san says calmly, stepping under the large stone arm, approaching me with a stern glare. His aviators are lifted up over his bloodshot eyes. He looks like he wants to strangle me.

"Shirou!" Ayaka shouts out, her frame visible in the distance, "Shirou! Oh, you're okay!"

Yoshimura surveys the battlefield with a calm gaze. Both of his blades are sheathed, but I can sense they have snapped on the inside, deep cracks running through them.

"Uh, hold on, I'm having a talk with the big guy over here." I try hard to not to chafe under Manaba-san's dark look, "He was just beginning to tell me about his Ma-"

My world goes dark for a moment.

Did I black out?

Manaba-san's fist impacted my right temple. It was a smooth roundhouse. I didn't even have the chance to anticipate it. I don't understand, I thought I was dying. Why did he think it was okay to hit me?

My vision swims and Yoshimura's jovial murmurs reverberate like a distant wind chime, "Excuse us, gargoyle-san, but we really must be going, we've overstayed our welcome."

"Wait maybe we should- let me try talking to him-"

"No Sajyou-san, it's too dangerous. As it is, we're out of time. We must leave immediately."

"I see," the rocky voice grumbles, "Very well. I will find you later, perhaps under the cover of next nightfall." He gathers himself and shuffles off loudly through the warehouse, disappearing somewhere beyond my field of comprehension - just like that. The monster is gone.

My voice creaks, I'm too tired to do anything; now realizing that I'm being dragged by the wrist, Manaba-san's firm fingers clamped tight around them. My visions swims again, blurring into focus.

"Yoshi, clear a path for us."

A voice breaks in through over the radio. It's Kojirou.

"Heh sorry for the lack of communication. If there's still anyone on the other end of this line, you may want to chill out. We've having some difficulties back at HQ. Don't worry, they're being dealt with, but uh, no ETA just yet on that." He chuckles - and then there's the sound of raining gunfire, "Yeah, it may be just a little while."


End file.
